University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


&££4£< 


fn 


ULO 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES; 


OR, 


RAPE  OF  FLORIDA 


BY 

ALBERT    A.  WHITMAN. 


THIRD  EDITION,  CAREFULLY  REVISED. 


ST.  LOUIS: 
NIXON-JONES  PRINTING  CO. 

1890. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1884,  by 

ALBERT   A.  WHITMAN, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


DEDICATION. 


TO     THE     HONORABLE     CHARLES     ROBINSON,    EX-GOVERNOR    OF    KANSAS, 

"  TWASINTA'S    SEMINOLES  ;    OR,    RAPE    or    FLORIDA"    is 

RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED    AS    A    SLIGHT    TOKEN 

OF     ESTEEM     FOR     HIS      LIFE-LONG 

FRIENDSHIP      TO      MY 

PEOPLE. 

ALBERY   A.    WHITMAN. 


(3) 


PREFACE. 


The  cordial  reception  given  the  first  edition 
of  this  poem  by  the  American  people,  prompts 
me  to  change  my  former  address,  by  adding  a 
word  to  the  public. 

Youth  thinks  extravagantly  and  often  speaks 
more  so,  but  sober  experience  comes  on  to  cor- 
rect us.  I  have  found  that  I  need  not  quarrel 
and  that  complaining  is  unmanly.  Going  among 
the  people  for  myself,  I  have  seen  that  the 
whites  have  cheerfully  vied  with  my  own  race 
in  putting  me  before  the  public.  Kindness  is 
a  law  unto  herself,  and  in  her  dominions  all  sub- 
jects are  willing.  She  opens  her  hand  with 
benefits,  and  forgets  not  the  humble  in  passing. 
This  beautiful  truth  has  been  taught  me  by  the 
many  who  have  heard  my  singing.  The  wise, 
the  good,  and  great  have  heard  me,  and  said 
that  they  heard  a  poet.  And  saying  so  much  of 
me,  an  obscure  young  man,  it  causes  me  to  hope 
afresh,  and  feel  that  life  is  worth  living. 

I  am  in  active  sympathy  with  the  progressive 
colored  man.  I  have  a  mind  to  think  that  he 
has  a  calling  among  his  fellow -men.  It  maybe 
noticed  here  that  I  use  the  words,  colored  man, 
instead  of  the  word  Negro.  I  do  this  because 
my  feelings  decide  in  favor  of  colored  man  by  a 
rote  of  eight  to  seven.  I  am  in  active  sympathy 
with  America's  coming  colored  man.  I  have 
yielded  to  the  firm  belief  that  he  has  a  future. 
I  abhor  the  doctrine  that  he  is  but  a  cipher  in 
the  world's  greatness  —  a  captive  in  the  meshes 
of  dominating  influences.  I  abhor  it  because  it 
is  arrogantly  asserted  on  the  one  hand  while  it 
is  too  often  tacitly  admitted  on  the  other.  Yet 
I  confess  that  living  instances  of  real  merit  only 
will  correct  the  world's  judgment  and  force  its 
respect.  To  this  end  I  have  laid  out  ray  life. 
Modest  enough  to  be  patient,  I  am  not  too  tame 
to  assert  that  I  have  some  hope  of  ultimately 
reaching  the  ears  of  my  countrymen. 

I  am  a  colored  man,  and  as  such,  I  accept  the 
situation,  and  enter  the  lists  with  poised  lance. 
I  disdain  to  whine  over  my  "  previous  condi- 
tion." I  despise  the  doctrine  of  the  slave's 
allowance.  Petition  and  complaint  are  the  lan- 


guage of  imbecility  and  cowardice  —  the  evi- 
dences of  that  puerile  fear  which  extinguishes 
the  soul.  The  time  has  come  when  all  "  Uncle 
Toms  "  and  "  Topsies  "  ought  to  die.  Goody 
goodness  is  a  sort  of  man  worship :  ignorance  is 
its  inspiration,  fear  its  ministering  spirit,  and 
beggary  its  inheritance.  Genius,  in  a  right  good 
soul,  is  the  highest  impress  of  the  Divine  Image 
on  clay.  It  alone  can  have  the  respect  of  God 
and  man.  Dumb  endurance  is  the  stamp  of 
heroism  and  mortal  greatness.  To  it,  all  earth 
is  place,  all  time  opportunity,  heaven  compan- 
ionship and  God  a  friend. 

As  for  myself,  I  was  "bred  to  the  plow." 
Amid  the  rugged  hills,  along  the  banks  of  Green 
River  in  Kentucky,  I  enjoyed  the  inestimable 
blessings  of  cabin  life  and  hard  work  during  the 
whole  of  my  early  days.  I  was  in  bondage,  — 
I  never  was  a  slave,  —  the  infamous  laws  of  a 
savage  despotism  took  my  substance  —  what  of 
that?  Many  a  man  has  lost  all  he  had,  excepting 
his  manhood.  Adversity  is  the  school  of  hero- 
ism, endurance  the  majesty  of  man  and  hope  the 
torch  of  high  aspirations.  Acquainted  with 
adversity,  I  am  flattered  of  hope  and  comforted 
by  endurance. 

As  to  the  merits  of  this  poem,  I  shall  not  ven- 
ture a  word.  If  merit  there  be,  it  will  be  found. 
If  none,  palliating  words  will  not  soften  criti- 
cism. I  simply  present  Atlassa,  Ewald  and 
Palmecho,  with  their  associates,  to  the  public, 
and  "bow  out." 

Of  poetry  in  general,  however,  I  will  say :  I 
am  not  of  those  "  who  think  a  poet  and  a  bell- 
ringer  to  be  equals."  I  do  not  believe  poetry 
is  on  the  decline.  I  do  not  believe  that  human 
advancement  extinguishes  the  torch  of  senti- 
ment. I  cannot  think  that  money-getting  is 
the  whole  business  of  man.  Rather  am  I  con- 
vinced that  the  world  is  approaching  a  poetical 
revolution.  The  subtle  evolution  of  thought 
must  yet  be  expressed  in  song.  **  Poesy,"  says 
one,  "  is  the  language  of  the  imagination." 
Campbell  said,  "  it  is  the  eloquence  of  truth." 
As  we  understand  it  to-day,  I  think  poetry  is 

(5) 


6 


PREFACE. 


the  language  of  universal  sentiment.  Torch  of 
the  unresting  mind,  she  kindles  in  advance  of 
all  progress.  Her  waitings  are  on  the  threshold 
of  the  infinite,  where,  beckoning  man  to  listen, 
she  interprets  the  leaves  of  immortality.  Her 
voice  is  the  voice  of  Eternity  dwelling  in  all 
great  souls.  Her  aims  are  the  inducements  of 
heaven,  and  her  triumphs  the  survival  of  the 
Beautiful,  the  True,  and  the  Good.  In  her 
language  there  is  no  mistaking  of  that  liberal 
thought  which  is  the  health  of  mind.  A  secret 
interpreter,  she  waits  not  for  data,  phenomena 
and  manifestations,  but  anticipates  and  spells 
the  wishes  of  Heaven. 

Poesy  is  fair,  and  to  her  all  things  are  fair; 
the  rain  prophesies,  and  seasons  and  soil  give 
testimony  that  God  is  a  friend  of  all  His  creat- 
ures, and  man  is  His  delight.  In  great  forests 
she  sees  temples  reared  and  hears  the  sounds 
of  praise.  The  dumb  rocks  are  silent,  but  ex- 
press all  real  prayer. 

Poesy  is  free,  and  knows  not  of  hire.  Beauty 
Is  her  inspiration,  —  her  creed  is  Truth,  and 


Goodness  her  Divinity.  The  first  she  praises, 
magnifies  the  second,  and  adores  the  third. 
And  to  end  all,  in  her  divine  right  a  teacher,  she 
brings  benefits  even  to  the  lowly. 

Of  myself  in  this  matter,  I  will  add :  I  began 
to  try  sayings  of  poetry  before  I  knew  what 
writing  was.  Before  I  could  write  a  letter,  I 
was  trying  to  scribble  down  what  the  birds  and 
bees  and  cows  were  saying  and  what  even  the 
dumb  rocks  were  thinking.  Nature  has  ever 
had  a  speech  for  me,  and  in  listening  to  her 
voice,  lies  my  satisfaction.  Finally :  in  essaying 
the  "stately  verse,"  mastered  by  only  Spenser, 
Byron,  and  a  very  few  other  great  poets,  I  may 
seem  to  have  "rushed  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread."  To  this  view  of  the  matter,  I  will  say 
by  way  of  defense :  some  one  of  my  race  is  sure 
to  do  everything  that  any  one  else  has  ever 
done,  and  as  none  of  my  race  have  ever  exe- 
cuted a  poem  in  the  "  stately  verse,"  I  simply 
venture  in. 

ALBERYA.  WHITMAN. 


TWASINTA'S  8EMINOLE8; 


RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


CANTO  I. 

INVOCATION. 
I. 

The  poet  hath  a  realm  within  and  throne, 

And  in  his  own  soul  singeth  his  lament. 

A  comer  often  to  the  world  unknown — 

A  flaming  minister  to  mortals  sent; 

In  an  apocalypse  of  sentiment 

He  shows  in  colors  true  the  right  or  wrong, 

And  lights  the  soul  of  virtue  with  content; 

Oh!  could  the  world  without  him  please  us 

long? 
What  truth  is  there  that  lives  and  does  not  live 

in  song? 

II. 

"  The  stuff's  in  him  of  robust  manliness, 
He  is  a  poet,  singing  more  by  ear, 
Than  note."    His  great  heart  filled  with  tender- 
ness, 

Thus  spoke  the  patriarch  bard  of  Cedarmere 
Of  me,  who  dwelt  in  a  most  obscure  sphere; 
For  I  was  in  the  tents  of  bondage  when 
The  muse  inspired    and   ere  my   song   grew 

clear, 

The  graceful  Bryant  called  his  fellow-men 
To  mark  what  in  my  lay  seemed  pleasing  to  him 
then. 


III. 

O  !  shade  of  our  departed  Sire  of  song  ! 
If  what  to  us  is  dim  be  clear  to  thee, 
Hear  while  my  yet  rude  numbers  flow  along! 
If  spirit  may  a  mortal's  teacher  be, 
Stand  thou  near  by  and  guidance  offer  me  I 
That,  like  thy  verses,  clear  as  summer  blue,  — 
Bright  mirrors  of  the  peaceful  and  the  free, 
Reflecting  e'er  the  good,  the  great  and  true,  — 
So  mine  may  be,  while  /  my  pleasing  task  pur- 
sue. 

IV. 

Say  then,  of  that  too  soon  forgotten  race 

That  flourished  once,  but  long  has  been  obscure 

In  Florida,  and  where  the  seas  embrace 

The  Spanish  isles;  say  if  e'er  lives  more  pure 

Warmed  veins,  or  patriots  could  more  endure 

Around  the  altars  of  their  native  bourne  ! 

Say,  when  their  flow'ry  landscapes  could  allure, 

What  peaceful  season  did  to  them  return, 

And  how  requited  labor  filled  his  golden  urn? 


How  sweet  their  little  fields  of  golden  corn  ! 
How  pleasure  smiled  o'er  all  the  varying  scene  ! 
How,  'mid   her  dewy  murmurs    dreamt  the 

morn, 

As  Summer  lingered  in  the  deep  serene! 
How  nibbling  flocks  spread  on  the   hillsides 

green, 

(7) 


8 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


And  cattle  herded  in  the  vales  below ; 

And  how  wild  meadows  stretched  in  bloom- 
sweet  sheen, 

Beneath  unconquered  shades,  where  lovers  go 

When  comes  the  evening  star  above  the  dark  to 
glow! 

VI. 

In  this  delightful  valley  of  the  isle, 

Where  dwelt  the  proud  Maroon,  were  not  deeds 

done 

Which  roused  the  Seminole  and  fierce  exile 
To  more  than  savage  daring?    Here  begun 
The  valiant  struggles  of  a  forest  son; 
And  tho'  by  wrong's  leagued  numbers  over- 
borne, 

His  deeds  of  love  and  valor  for  him  won 
The  envied  wreath  by  heroes  only  worn, 
And  which   from  manhood's  brow  oppression 
ne'er  hath  torn ! 


I. 

The  negro  slave  by  Swanee  river  sang; 
Well-pleased  he  listened  to  his  echoes  ringing ; 
For  in  his  heart  a  secret  comfort  sprang, 
When   Nature   seemed  to  join   his   mournful 

singing. 

To  mem'ry's  cherished  objects  fondly  clinging; 
His  bosom  felt  the  sunset's  patient  glow, 
And  spirit  whispers  into  weird  life  springing, 
Allured  to  worlds  he  trusted  yet  to  know, 
And  lightened  for  awhile  life's  burdens  here 

below. 

n. 

The  drowsy  dawn  from  many  a  low-built  shed, 
Beheld  his  kindred  driven  to  their  task; 
Late  evening  saw  them  turn  with  weary  tread 
And  painful  faces  back;  and  dost  thou  ask 
How  sang  these  bondmen?  how  their  suff'rings 

mask? 

Song  is  the  soul  of  sympathy  divine, 
And  hath  an  inner  ray  where  hope  may  bask; 
Song  turns  the  poorest  waters  into  wine, 
Illumines  exile  hearts  and  makes    their  faces 

shine. 

III. 

The  negro  slave  by  Swanee  river  sang, 
There  soon  the  human  hunter  rode  along; 
And  eagerly  behind  him  came  a  gang 
Of  hounds  and  men,  —  the  bondman  hushed  his 
song  — 


Around  him  came  a  silent,  list'ning  throng; 
"  Some  runaway!  "  he  muttered;  said  no  more, 
But  sank  from  view  the  growing  corn  among; 
And  though  deep  pangs  his    wounded    spirit 

bore, 
He  hushed  his  soul,  and  went  on  singing  as 

before. 

IV. 

So  fared  the  land  where  slaves  were  groaning 

yet  — 

Where  beauty's  eyes  must  feed  the  lusts  of  men! 
'Tis  as  when  horrid  dreams  we  half  forget, 
Would  then  relate,  and  still  relate  again  — 
Ah!  cold  abhorrence  hesitates  my  pen! 
The  heavens  were  sad,  and  hearts  of  men  were 

faint; 

Philanthropy  implored  and  wept,  but  then 
The  wrong,  unblushing  trampled  oil  Restraint, 
While  feeble  Law  sat  by  and  uttered  no  com- 
plaint. 

V. 

"Fly  and  be   free!"    a  whisper   comes  from 

heaven, 
'•  Thy  cries  are  heard!  "  the  bondman's  up  and 

gone! 

To  grasp  the  dearest  boon  to  mortals  given, 
He  frantic  flies,  unaided  and  alone. 
To  him  the  red  man's  dwellings  are  unknown; 
But  he  can  crave  the  freedom  of  his  race, 
Can  find  his  harvests  in  the  desert  sown, 
And  in  the  cypress  forest's  dark  embrace 
A  pathway  to  his  lonely  habitations  trace. 

VI. 

The  sable  slave,  from  Georgia's  utmost  bounds, 
Escapes  for  life  into  the  Great  Wahoo. 
Here  he  has  left  afar  the  savage  hounds 
And  human  hunters  that  did  late  pursue; 
There  in  the  hommock  darkly  hid  from  view, 
His  wretched  limbs  are  stretched  awhile  to  rest, 
Till  some  kind  Seminole  shall  guide  him  thro' 
To  where  by  hound  nor  hunter  more  distrest, 
He  in  a  flow'ry  home,  shall  be  the  red  man's 
guest. 

VII. 

If  tilled  profusion  does  not  crown  the  view, 
Nor   wide-ranged    farms   begirt   with    fences 

spread ; 

The  cultivated  plot  is  well  to  do ; 
And  where  no  slave  his  groaning  life  has  led, 
The  songs  of  plenty  fill  the  lowliest  shedv 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES  ;    OR,    RAPE    OF    FLORIDA. 


Who  could  wish  more,  when  Nature,  always 
green, 

Brings  forth  fruit-bearing  woods  and  fields  of 
bread? 

Wish  more,  where  cheerful  valleys  bloom  be- 
tween, 

And  herds  browse  on  the  hills,  where  winter 
ne'er  has  been? 

VIII. 

Shall  high-domed  mosque  or  steepled  cathedral, 
Alone  to  man  his  native  land  endear? 
Shall  pride's  palatial  pomp  and  ease  withal, 
The  only  shrines  of  patriotism  rear? 
Oh!  who  can  limit  adoration's  sphere, 
Or  check  the  inspiring  currents  of  the  soul?  — 
Who  hush  the  whispers  of  the  vernal  year, 
Or  press  the  sons  of  freedom  from  their  goal? 
Or  who  from  Nature  wrest  the  mystery  of  con- 
trol! 

IX. 

Plebeian,  Savage,  Sage,  or  lord  or  fiend, 
Man  hath  of  justice  and  of  right  a  cause. 
Prior  to  all  that  e'er  has  contravened, 
Or  e'en  to  man's  existence,  justice  was. 
Right  would  be  right  amid  the  wreck  of  laws : 
'Tis  so,  and  all  ordaining  Nature  gives 
Somewhere  to  live,  to  every  child  she  has ; 
She  gives,  and  to  her  bosom  each  receives, 
Inducing  it  to  love  the  spot  whereon  it  lives. 

X. 

Fair  Florida!  whose  scenes  could  so  enhance  — 
Could  in  the  sweetness  of  the  earth  excel ! 
Wast  thou  the  Seminole's  inheritance? 
Yea,  it  was  thee  he  loved,  and  loved  so  well! 
"Twas  'neath  thy  palms  and  pines  he  strove  to 

dwell. 

Not  savage,  but  resentful  to  the  knife, 
For  thee  he  sternly  struggled  —  sternly  fell! 
Thoughtful  and  brave,  in  long  uneven  strife, 
He  held  the  verge  of  manhood  mid  the  nights 

of  life. 

XL 

A  wild-born  pride  endeared  him  to  thy  soil  I 
Where   roamed  his   herds  without   a  keeper's 

care  — 

Where  man  knew  not  the  pangs  of  slavish  toil  1 
And  where  thou  didst  not  blooming  pleasures 

spare, 

But  well  allotted  each  an  ample  share, 
He  loved  to  dwell :  Oh  I  isn't  the  goal  of  life 


Where  man  has  plenty  and  to  man  Is  fair? 
When  free  from  avarice's  pinch  and  strife, 
Is  earth  not  like  the  Eden-home  of  man  and 
wife? 

XII. 

If  earth  were  freed  from   those  who  buy  and 

sell, 

It  soon  were  free  from  most,  or  all  its  ills; 
For  that  which  makes  it,  most  of  all,  a  hell, 
Is  what  the  stingy  purse  of  Fortune  fills ; 
The  man  who  blesses  and  the  man  who  kills, 
Oft  have  a  kindred  purpose  after  all,  — 
A  purpose  that  will  ring  in  Mammon's  tills; 
And  that  has  ne'er  unheeded  made  a  call, 
Since  Eve  and  Adam  trod  the  thistles  of  their 

Fall. 

XIII. 

What  meant  the  actions  of  the  great  and  good — 
The  Christ  and  His  Apostles  —  holy  men! 
Why  wandered  they  about  in  solitude, 
Despising   what   the   world   called    greatness 

then? 

Why  shun  the  num'rous  city's  places,  when 
Eternal  themes  their  warning  tongues  inspired — 
Why,  but  to  reach  Edenic  source  again 
In  nature?    Why,  if  not  that  they  aspired 
To   tarry  till  seraphic  touch  and    flame    had 

fired. 

XIV. 

Their  hearts  to  work  man's  restoration?    This, 
This  is  the  voice  of  Time  unfolding  truth! 
Oh !  does  not  Nature  teach  us  primal  bliss? 
Who  has  not  felt  her  lessons  in  his  youth? 
And  having  felt,  who  can  forget  forsooth ! 
The  voice  of  birds,  the  toil  and  hum  of  bees, 
And  air  all  filled  with  sounds,   sweet  or  un- 
couth, 

Dark  hights,  majestic  woods  and  rolling  seas 
Have  been  my  teachers,  and  my  teachers  still 
be  these ! 

XV. 

Have  I  not  seen  the  hills  of  Candahar 
Clothed  in  the  fury  of  a  thunder  storm? 
When  Majesty  rolled  in  His  cloud-dark  car  — 
Wreathed  His  dread  brow  with  lightning's  livid 

form, 

And  with  a  deluge  robed  His  threat'ning  arm ! 
Not  seen,  when  night  fled  His  terrific  feet, 
The  great  deep  rose  to  utter  forth  alarm, 
The  hills  in  dreadful  hurry  rushed  to  meet, 
And  rocking  mountains  started  from  their  dark- 
ened seat! 


10 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


XVI. 

In  happy  childhood  I  have  even  loved 
To  sport  the  wild,  and  in  the  front  and  face 
Of  dreadest  Nature,  watch  the  storm  unmoved, 
That  tore  the  oak  tree  from  its  ancient  place 
And  took  the  hilltops  in  its  dark  embrace ; 
And  then  I've  loved  the  pleasing  after-view  — 
The  quiet  valleys  spanned  with  light  and  grace — 
The  watery  field,  replete  with  life  anew, 
And  sunset  robing  earth,  in   love's  sublimest 
hue. 

XVII. 

Thus,  when  afar  the  wide  Bahamas  shone,  — 
In  lucent  stillness  gleamed  the  sunset  sea  — 
When  day's  last  rim  sank  like  a  molten  zone, 
Emblaz'ning  in  Omnific  heraldry 
The  far-off  crag  and  latest  mountain  tree; 
Thus,  on  a  strand  dividing  worlds  I've  stood, 
Till,  touched  by  the  dark  wand  of  mystery, 
I  felt  the  brow  of  night,  and  earth  imbued 
With  dread  emotions  of  a  great  eternal  Good. 

XVIII. 

Upon  the  shells  by  Carribea's  wave 

I've  heard  the  anthems  of  the  mighty  sea; 

Heard  there  the  dark  pines  that  their  voices 

gave, 

And  heard  a  stream  denote  its  minstrelsy  — 
How  sweet,  all  lonely,  was  it  there  to  be  I 
The  stars  were  bright,  the  moon  was  up  and 

clear; 
But,  when  I  thought  of  those  who  once  were 

free, 

And  came  at  wonted  times  to  worship  there ; 
The  sea's  deep  voice  grew  sad  and  claimed  of 

me  a  tear! 

XIX. 

Oh  I  sing  it  in  the  light  of  freedom's  morn, 
Tho'  tyrant  wars  have  made  the  earth  a  grave ; 
The  good,  the  great,  and  true,  are,  if  so,  born, 
And  so  with  slaves,  chains  do  not  make   the 

slave! 

If  high-souled  birth  be  what  the  mother  gave, — 
If  manly  birth,  and  manly  to  the  core,  — 
Whate'er  the  test,  the  man  will  he  behave! 
Crush  him  to  earth  and  crush  him  o'er  and  o'er, 
A  man  he'll  rise  at  last  and  meet  you  as  before. 

XX. 

So  with  our  young  Atlassa,  hero -born,  — 
Free  as  the  air  within  his  palmy  shade, 
The  nobler  traits  that  do  the  man  adorn, 


In  him  were  native :  Not  the  music  made 
In  Tampa's  forests  or  the  everglade 
Was  fitter  than  in  this  young  Seminole 
Was  the  proud  spirit  which  did  life  pervade, 
And  glow  and  tremble  in  his  ardent  soul  — 
Which,  lit  his  inmost-self,  and  spurned  all  mean 
control. 

XXI. 

Than  him  none  followed  chase    with  nimbler 

feet, 

None  readier  in  the  forest  council  rose ; 
To  speak  for  war,  e'er  sober  and  discreet. 
In  battle  stern,  but  kind  to  fallen  foes; 
He  led  the  charge,  but  halted,  —  slow  to  close 
The  vexed  retreat:  In  front  of  battle  he, 
Handsome   and    wild    his  proud  form  would 

expose ; 

But  in  the  cheering  van  of  victory, 
Gentle  and  brave  he  was  the  real  chief  to  see. 

XXII. 

Lo!  mid  a  thousand  warriors  where  he  stands, 

Pride  of  all  hearts  and  idol  of  his  race  J 

Look  how  the  chieftains  of  his  war-tried  bands 

Kindle  their  courage  in  his  valiant  face ! 

And  as  his  lips  in  council  open,  trace 

How  deep  suspense  her  earnest  furrows  makes 

Onev'ry  brow!     How  rings  the  forest-place 

With   sounding    cheers!    when    native    valor 

wakes 
His  dark  intrepid  eyes,  and  he  their  standard 

takes! 

XXIII. 

Proud  spirit  of  the  hommock-bounded  home 
Well  wast  thy  valor  like  a  buckler  worn  I 
And  when  the  light  of  other  times  shall  come,  — 
When  history's  muse  shall  venture  to  adorn 
The  brow  of  all  her  children  hero-born,  — 
When  the  bold  truth  to  man  alike  assigns 
The  place  he  merits,  of  no  honor  shorn ; 
The  wreath  shall  be,  that  thy  proud  brow  en- 
twines, 
As  green  as  Mickasukie's  everlasting  pines! 

XXIV. 

Well  bled  thy  warriors  at  their  leader's  side ! 
Well  stood  they  the  oppressor's  wasting  fire ; 
For  years  sweep  on,  and  in  their  noiseless  tide, 
Bear  down  the  mem'ries  of  the  past!    The  dire 
And  glooraful  works  of  tyrants  shall  expire, 
Till  naught  survives,  save  truth's  great  vic- 
tories ; 


The  sable  slave,  from  Georgia's  utmost  bounds, 
Escapes  for  life  into  the  Great  Wahoo. 
Here  he  has  left  afar  the  savage  hounds 
And  human  hunters  that  did  late  pursue; 
There  in  the  hommock  darkly  hid  from  view, 
His  wretched  limbs  are  stretched  awhile  to  rest, 
Till  some  kind  Seminole  shall  guide'him  thro' 
To  where  by  hound  nor  hunter  more  distrest, 
He  in  a  flow'ry  home,  shall  be  the  red  man's  guest. 
Twasintcis  Seminoles;  or,  Rape  of  Florida. —  Page  8,  Stanza  v. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


11 


Then  shall  the  voyager  on  his  way  aspire 
To  ponder  what  vast  wrecks  of  time  he  sees, 
And  on  Fame's    temple    columns    read    their 
memories ! 

XXV. 

Not  so  with  Osceola,  thy  dark  mate ; 
The  hidden  terror  of  the  hommock,  he 
Sat  gloomily  and  nursed  a  bitter  hate,  — 
The  white  man  was  his  common  enemy  — 
He  rubbed  the  burning  wounds  of  injury, 
And  plotted  in  his  dreadful  silent  gloom; 
As  dangerous  as  a  rock  within  the  sea. 
And  when  in  fray  he  showed  his  fearless  plume, 
Revenge  made  sweet  the  blows  that  dealt  the 
white  man's  doom. 

XXVI. 

The  pent-up  wrath  that  rankled  in  his  breast, 
O'er  smould'ring  embers  shot  a  lurid  glare, 
And  wrongs  that  time  itself  had  not  redrest, 
In  ghost-like  silence  stalked  and   glimmered 

there. 

And  from  the  wizard  caverns  of  despair, 
Came  voice  and  groan,  reminding  o'er  and  o'er 
The  outrage  on  his  wife  so  young  and  fair; 
And  so,  by  heaven  and  earth  and  hell  he  swore 
To  treat  in  council  with  the  white  man  never 

more. 

XXVII. 

Such    were    the    chiefs    who   led  their  daring 

braves 

In  many  a  battle  nobly  lost  or  won, 
And  consecrated  Mickasukie's  graves 
To  that  sweet  province  of  the  summer  sun! 
And  still  shall  history  forgetful  run? 
Shall  legend  too  be  mute?  then  Poesy, 
Divinest  chronicler  of  deeds  well  done, 
From  the  blest  shrine  and  annals  of  the  free, 
Sing  forth  thy  praise  and  man  shall  hear  atten- 
tively. 

XXVIII. 

The  poorest  negro  coming  to  their  shore, 

To  them  was  brother  —  their   own  flesh   and 

blood,— 

They   sought   his   wretched   manhood   to  re- 
store, — 

They  found  his  hidings  in  the  swampy  wood, 
And  brought  him  forth  —  in  arms  before  him 

stood, — 
The  citizens  of  God  and  sovran  earth,  — 


They  shot  straight  forward  looks  with  flame 

imbued, 

Till  in  him  manhood  sprang,  a  noble  birth, 
And  warrior-armed  he  rose  to  all  that  man- 
hood's worth. 

XXIX. 

On  the  dark  front  of  battle  often  seeu, 

Or  holding  dang'rous  posts  through  dreadful 

hours,  — 

In  ranks  obedient,  in  command  serene, 
His  comrades  learn  to  note  the  tested  powers 
Which  prove  that  valor  is  not  always  ours, 
Be  whomsoever  we :  A  common  race 
Soon   from    this    union    flows  —  soon    rarest 

flowers 

Bloom  out  and  smile  in  beauty's  blending  grace, 
And  rivals  they  become  for  love's  sublimest 

place. 

XXX. 

The  native  warrior  leads  his  ebon  maid, 

The  dark  young  brave  his  bloom-hued  lover 

wins; 
And  where   soft   spruce  and  willows   mingle 

shade, 

Young  life  mid  sunniest  hours  its  course  begins: 
All  Nature  pours  its  never-ending  dins 
In  groves  of  rare-hued  leaf  without'n  end,  — 
'Tis  as  if  Time,  forgetting  Eden's  sins, 
Relents,  and  spirit  visitors  descend 
In  love's  remembered  tokens,  earth  once  more 

to  blend. 

XXXI. 

The  sleepy  mosses  wave  within  the  sun, 
And  on  the  dark  elms  climbs  the  mistletoe; 
Great  tangled  vines  through  pendant  branches 

run, 

And  hang  their  purple  clusters  far  below; 
The  old  pines  wave  their  summits  to  and  fro, 
And  dancing  to  the  earth,  impatient  light 
Touches  the  languid  scene,  to  quickly  go, 
Like  some  gay  spirit  in  its  sunny  plight, 
That,  visiting  the  earth,  did  glance  and  take  its 

flight. 

XXXII. 

Here  lapped  in  Sylvia's  all-composing  shade, 
Reposed  a  lake  beneath  the  thick- wood  hill 
Whose  shady  base,  by  night  and  day  was  made 
The  scene  of  trystings :  Pining  there  until 
The  shadow  crept  upon  the  midnight  sill, 
The  love-sick  youth  spoke  vows  unto  the  moon; 


12 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES  ;    OR,    RAPE    OF   FLORIDA. 


And  pond' ring  by  the  waters  lone  and  stttl, 
The  old  man  conned  his  lifetime's  Afternoon, 
And  turned  the  pleasing  view,  "  I  shall  be  going 


soon.' 


XXXIII. 


"  Come  now,  my  love,  the  moon  is  on  the  lake: 

Upon  the  waters  is  my  light  canoe; 

Come  with  me,  love,  and  gladsome  oars  shall 

make 

A,  music  on  the  parting  wave  for  you,  — 
Come  o'er  the  waters  deep  and  dark  and  blue ; 
Come  where  the  lilies  in  the  marge  have  sprung, 
Come  with  me,  love,  for  oh,  my  love  is  true!  " 
This  is  the  song  that  on  the  lake  was  sung, 
The  boatman  sang  it  over  when  his  heart  was 

young. 

XXXIV. 

The  boatman's  song  is  hushed;   the  night  is 

still, 

Still  as  the  vault  of  heaven,  —  a  plashy  oar 
Starts  from  the  shadows  by  the  darkling  hill, 
And  softly  dips  towards  the  farther  shore ; 
Now  stops,  now  dips  again  —  is  heard  no  more. 
But  follow  in  the  nook  by  yonder  tree,  — 
Where  spouts  a  tiny  stream  with  f retish  roar, 
His  light  canoe  is  riding  noiselessly  — 
A  Chieftain's  light  canoe,  in  which  his  maid  you 


see. 


XXXV. 


Ah!  how  her  wild  dark  wealth  of  tresses  spread 
Below  the  arm  that  round  her  partly  lies! 
And  as  she  leans  her  half  reluctant  head, 
See  how  intense  the  glances  that  she  tries ! 
Her  very  soul  is  mounting  to  her  eyes 
Lit  with  the  fires  of  her  proud  ancestry ; 
And  as  her  chieftain  hears  her  faint  replies, 
How  his  high  spirit  doth  adore  to  sue 
His  princess-child,  the  bright  star  of  his  destiny ! 

XXXVI. 

"  A  maid  from  islands  in  a  far  far  sea, 
Came  to  our  shores,  upon  a  day,  a  day; 
A  beauty  fair,  a  beauty  fair  was  she, 
And  took  our  young  Chief's  heart  away,  away; 
Tho'  all  the  world  could  not  we  heard  him  say. 
And  oh !  we  love  our  chieftain  and  his  maid, 
And  so  will  we,  and  so  will  we  for  aye!  " 
This  was  the  night-song  on  the  lake  delayed, — 
The  boatman  sang  it  over  in  the  willows'  shade. 


XXXVII. 

The  scout  at  eve  to  Mickasukie  came ; 
The  stories  of  Twasinta  were  his  boast, — 
A  stately  chief,  Palmecho  was  his  name, 
Had  numerous  herds  and  fields,  and  had  a  host 
Of  servants  in  the  vale  from  Tampa's  coast. 
A  proud  descendant  of  a  house  of  Spain, 
Distinguished  as  a  patron  gen'rous  most, 
Whoever  sought  his  roof,  sought  not  in  vain, 
And  he  who  tarried   once  must   shelter  there 
again. 

XXXVIII. 

What  if  his  child,  of  Maroon  mother  born, 
Were  not  so  white  as  fancy's  marble  art? 
What  if  Care's  tedious  skill  did  not  adorn?— 
A  native  air  did  nobler  charms  impart; 
For  beauty  blossomed  wildly  In  her  heart: 
The   rosebud's   youngest    tinge    was    in    her 

cheek. 
And  her  dark  restless  eyes  could  dance  and 

start 

As  if  the  sparkling  sense  were  wont  to  speak, 
And  hurl  the  insult  back  that  woman's  heart  is 

weak. 

XXXIX. 

Lo!  where  yon  age-brown  mansion  meets  your 

eyesl 

The  brook  below  it  winds  how  placidly! 
A  house  of  proud  ancestral  families, 
How  venerable  is  its  history! 
Whilom  here  met  the  sons  of  liberty ; 
The  counsel  and  the  courage  of  a  time 
When  civilization,  crossing  o'er  the  sea, 
Courted  the  perils  of  an  unknown  clime, 
And  reared  the  Cross  of  Spain  to  mark  con- 
quests sublime. 

XL. 

But  of  thy  conquests,  what  remains  for  thee, 
Except  our  sighs,  thou  proud  but  feeble  Spain! 
Thy  flow'rand  pride,  Lisboa's  chivalry, 
Could  not  on  these  wild  shores  prolong  thy 

reign. 

For  man  waxed  mighty  and  his  God  was  Gain. 
What  if  thy  ancient  mounts  are  castle-crowned? 
What  if  thy  vales  do  open  to  the  main, 
With    cloisters     in    the     distance     time-em- 
browned? 

These  are  but  glimmerings  of  what  was  once  re- 
nowned. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


13 


XLI. 

Was  not  thy  standard  on  these    shores    un- 
furled?— 
Dominions  named   for   thy    "most  Christian 

Queen  " 

The  smile-provoking  jest  of  a  New  World, 
Whose  sons  in  battle  had  victorious  been, 
O'er  English  vet'rans  who  had  service  seen? 
Yea,  when  the  lucre -loving  Saxon  drew 
And  fattened  on  the  blood  of  slaves,  I  ween 
Not  much  remained  for  errant  hands  to  do, 
Except  to  seize  and  hold  the  weak  in  bondage 
too! 

XLII. 

But  Saragossa's  flash  o'er  war's  red  field, 
That  nerved  thy  sons  in  havoc's  revelry, 
Held  in  young  Ewald's  softer  glance  concealed, 
The  dark  springs  of  Astrusian  chivalry,  — 
The  lash-hid  fires  of  valor's  destiny  — 
Such  eyes,  the  raging  battle  could  not  tame : 
Yet  they  could  shed  the  sweet  light  of  a  plea; 
Enkindling  in  love's  soft  consenting  flame, 
A  pride  that  nobly  linked  with  beauty's  charm- 
ing name. 

XLIII. 

But  we  return ;  By  Carribea's  shore 
And  Tampa  far,  the  maroon's  race  is  run! 
Gone  are  his  children;  him  they  call  no  more  I 
No  more  they  gather  in  the  setting  sun 
To  join  their  pastimes,  after  toil  is  done! 
Pathetic  silence  covers  with  a  pall 
The  scene  which  all  the  living  seem  to  shun, 
And  something  seems  to  whisper,  after  all : 
"And,  ah!  did  such  and  such  Twasinta's  homes 
befall!" 

XLIV. 

Here  many  an  exile  found  his  long  sought  rest, 
And  built  his  cot  in  woods  afar  or  lane. 
Warm  were  his  greetings  for  the  weary  guest, 
Who  wandered  thither  from  the  distant  main ; 
And  those  who  came  were    pressed  to    come 

again. 

And  for  what  news  he  gathered  by  the  way, 
Of  frontier  happens  or  of  maid  and  swain 
On  foreign  shores,  —  prolonged  from  day  to  day, 
The  total  stranger  might  at  will  extend  his  stay. 


XLV. 

Here  erst  came  exiles  from  their  little  farms, 
To  greet  Palmecho  and  some  honored  guest; 
Then  ranged  in  rows,  they  sat  with  folded  arms, 


And  heaven  with  rude,  but  fervent  songs  ad- 

drest: 

A  nameless  longing  kindled  in  each  breast, 
Gave  soul  to  song,  and  as  their  voices  rose, 
And  rolled  and  echoed  dying  in  the  West, 
It  seemed  as  if  the  dark  hills  did  enclose 
Unearthly  choirs  that  chanted  Nature  to  repose. 

XL  VI. 

But  where  are  they?    Their  voices  are  no  more, 
Where  is  the  proud  Palmecho?    Where  his  child? 
Ah !  shall  we  seek  them  on  a  foreign  shore, 
Or  follow  where  they  wander  in  the  wild? 
Oh  God!  and  hath  our  garments  been  defiled 
With  their  shed  blood;  or  what  the  frost  and 

blight 

That  withered  life  where  erst  so  sweet  it  smiled? 
Let  time's  unerring  finger  point  aright, 
If  Babylon  be  doomed,  the  truth  should  see  the 

light. 

XLVII. 

Pass  by  their  dwellings!  they  are  desolate! 
The  dog  has  wandered  there  and  howled  and 

gone! 

Rank  weeds  are  growing  o'er  the  broken  gate, 
And  silence  holds  her  dismal  reign  alone. 
Ah!  see  what  devastation  there  has  done! 
How  o'er  the  scene  a  mournful  spirit  falls ! 
Here  where  a  cheerful  hearth  whilom  hast  shone, 
The  dim  noble  burrows  —  sunken  lean  the  walls, 
And  wizard  voices  whisper  in  the  naked  halls ! 


XL  VIII. 

Thus  have  we,  Mickasukie,  seen  thy  braves, 
And  too  Twasinta,  seen  thy  homes  decline ! 
Thus  have  we  found  how  yearns  the  poorest 

slaves 

For  freedom  —  how  at  patriotism's  shrine, 
The  ardor  of  the  exile  is  divine ; 
And  now,  that  in  the  tide  of  years  o'erflown, 
There's  scarcely  left  a  trace  of  thee  and  thine, 
We  pause  and  sigh,  mid  wrecks  that  time  hath 

strewn ; 
Of  all  the  world  has  been  how  little  -now  is 

known ! 


XLIX. 

The    plowman's  furrow  marks 
field, 


the  crumbling 


Where    all    unnoticed, 
spread ; 


war's    rude    weapons 


14 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  or  FLORIDA. 


While  neath  his  heedless  step  may  lie  con- 
cealed, 

The  strange  and  thrilling  annals  of  the  dead ! 

On  some  eventful  day  there  may  have  bled, 

Freemen  as  brave  as  Balaklava  knew; 

While  there  may  rest  some  glorious  leader's 
head, 

Whose  matchless  valor  to  his  standard  drew 

Brave  hosts,  who  round  their  homes  a  wall  of 
battle  threw. 


Oh!  would  the  muse  of  history  rend  the  veil, 
And  bring  her  hidden  instances  to  light; 
How  many  standards  of  the  proud  would  trail, 
As  thousands  all  unknown  would  rush  in  sight  1 
From  steepled  vale  and  celebrated  hight ! 
Wherever  civilization  spreads  her  name, 
Nations    that    perished    in   the   scourge   and 

blight 

Of  wars  would  rise,  and  in  the  book  of  fame, 
Record  their  struggles  and  their  heroes'  deeds 

proclaim. 

LI. 

Not  Albion's  power  nor  Scotia's  pride  alone, 
Could   drum    and  slogan   till   the  air  should 

shriek 
With  martial  praise, — nor  with  their  lips  of 

stone, 

Could  Tyber's  Mistress  and  Illyrium  speak 
The  godlike  deeds  of  Roman  and  of  Greek ; 
Nay,  where  the  orange  blows  in  yellow  gold,  — 
Where   eve   is  thoughtful   and  the   morn    is 

meek, — 
Where  stood  the  quick-eyed  warrior  dark  and 

bold, 
Applausing  earth  would  hear  the  deeds  of  glory 

told. 

LII. 

Then  from  the  lips  of  unf orgetting  time, 
To  hear  what  did  Twasinta's  homes  befall 
When  war-storms    overspread   that  peaceful 

clime  — 

To  know  what  anguish  did  all  hearts  appall, 
When  separations  brought  death  after  all  — 
To  hear  how  love  can  mortal  dread  unmask,  — 
To  hear,  and  write  at  candor's  earnest  call, 
That  I  may  answer  if  mankind  shall  ask, 
In  truth  —  this  be  my  aim,  this  be  my  further 

task. 


CANTO  II. 
I. 

The  trump  of  fame  is  but  the  thunder's  tone 

Borne  off  forever,  dying  on  the  wind. 

The  glorious  summits  of  the  ages  gone, 

In  dim  remoteness  scarcely  lift  the  mind : 

The  mighty  deeds  that  thrilled  of  yore,  mankind, 

Are  now  forgotten  or  but  seldom  told ; 

Th'  unresting  spirit  e'er  the  new  must  find  — 

Old  lands,  old  tongues,  old  heav'ns  and  earths  — 

all  old 
Things  pass  away,  as    time  displays  the  new 

unrolled. 


II. 


What  is  there  now  of  gods  and  Mikacloos, 
And  dukes,  and  lords,  or  other  titled  things, 
In  this  live  age?  —  this  busy  world  profuse 
With  evolution?  —  when  each  hour  there  springs 
New  truths,  and  new  sensations  mount  their 

wings? 

Inherent  mention's  scarcely  worth  the  pains, 
The  world  cares  little  whose  grand  sires  were 

kings; 

I'd  rather  be  a  squatter  on  the  plains, 
And  know  that  I  possessed  industry,  pluck  and 

brains. 


III. 


Greatness,  by  nature,  cannot  be  entailed ; 
It  is  an  office  ending  with  the  man,  — 
Sage,  hero,  Savior,  tho'  the  Sire  be  hailed, 
The  sun  may  reach  obscurity  in  the  van : 
Sublime  achievements  know  no  patent  plan, 
Man's  immortality's  a  book  with  seals, 
And  none  but  God  shall  open — none  else  can,  — 
But  opened,  it  the  mystery  reveals,  — 
Manhood's  conquest  of  man  to  heav'n's  respect 
appeals. 

IV. 

Is  manhood  less  because  man's  face  is  black? 
Let  thunders  of  the  loosened  seals  reply ! 
Who  shall  the  rider's  restive  steed  turn  back, 
Or  who  withstand  the  arrows  he  lets  fly, 
Between  the  mountains  of  eternity? 
Genius  ride  forth!  thou  gift  and  torch  of  heav'n! 
The  mastery  is  kindled  in  thine  eye ; 
To  conquest  ride !  thy  bow  of  strength  is  giv'n  — 
The  trampled  hordes  of  caste  before  thee  snail 
be  driv'n! 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES  ;    OR,    RAPE    OF   FLORIDA. 


15 


V. 

Who  is't  would  beg?    What  man  permission 

crave 
To  give  his  thoughts  their  scope  and  rightful 

reign? 

Let  him  be  cursed!  a  self-manacled  slave! 
He's  a  pollution  to  the  mind's  domain  — 
A  Moral  garbage  scattered  on  the  plain  — 
An  execration  of  the  world! —  God's  arm 
Defend  not  him!  Oh!  if  there  is  disdain 
To  freeze  the  bosom's  every  impulse  warm, 
I  crave  it  for  all  who  to  Favor's  aim's  house 

swarm. 

VI. 

Shall  thunders  ask  of  man  what  time  to  beat 
The  march  of  clouds?    Or  oceans  beg  his  leave 
To  rock  their  under-world's?    In  his  dread  seat, 
Doth  Blanc  consider  him?    When  did  he  weave 
A  mantle  for  the  hurricane,  or  give 
The  Rockies  leave  to  hold  the  dying  Sun! — 
Sooner  all  these  —  sooner  an  earthquake  heave, 
And  sink  earth  back  where  broods  oblivion, 
Than  God-giv'n  mind  submit  for  gyves  to  be 
put  on. 

VII. 

'T'is  hard  to  judge  if  hatred  of  one's  race, 
By  those  who  deem  themselves  superior-born, 
Be  worse  than  that  quiescence  in  disgrace, 
Which  only  merits  —  and  should  only — scorn! 
Oh !  let  me  see  the  negro,  night  and  morn, 
Pressing  and  fighting  in,  for  place  and  power! 
If  he  a  proud  escutcheon  would  adorn, 
All  earth  is  place  —  all  time  th'  auspicious  hour, 
While  heaven  leans  forth  to  see,  oh!   can  he 
quail  or  cower? 

VIII. 

Ah!  I  abhor  his  protest  and  complaint! 
His  pious  looks  and  patience  I  despise! 
He  can't  evade  the  test,  disguised  as  saint, 
The  manly  voice  of  freedom  bids  him  rise, 
And  shake  himself  before  Philistine  eyes ! 
And,  like  a  lion  roused,  no  sooner  than 
A  foe  dare  come,  play  all  his  energies, 
And  court  the  fray  with  fury  if  he  can; 
For  hell  itself  respects  a  fearless  manly  man ! 


IX. 

Negro,  or  Arab,  Zulu  if  one  choose, 
Unmoved  be  thou  reproached  for  all  but  fear! 
By  the  unhindered  waters  learn  to  muse, 


With  nature's  liberal  voices  in  thy  ear; 
Dwell  on  her  nobler  aspects  that  appear, 
And  make  companions  of  all  one  may  find : 
Go  rove  the  mountain  forests  far  and  near, 
And  hear  the  laughter  of  the  open  wind; 
Then  ask,  what  earth  affords  like  freedom  of 
the  mind! 

X. 

Be  thine  the  shoulders  that  may  bleed  —  not 

wince, 

Tho'  insolence  in  power  lay  on  the  lash. 
Look  retribution!  court  the  worst  nor  flinch, 
If  thou  must  meet!  —  upon  the  insult  gnash! 
And  let  thy  kindled  courage  on  him  flash; 
For  whom  he  cannot  conquer  —  dare  not  kill  — 
In  suff'ring  dumb  —  in  manly  virtues  rash  — 
Must  with  respect  e'en  tyrant  bosoms  fill, 
So  godlike  is  the  man  who  is  invincible ! 

XI. 

I  never  was  a  slave  —  a  robber  took 

My   substance  —  what  of  that?    The  law  my 

rights  — 

And  that?    I  still  was  free  and  had  ray  book  — 
All  nature.    And  I  learned  from  during  hights 
How  silence  is  majestic,  and  invites 
In  admiration  far  beholding  eyes! 
And  heaven  taught  me  with  her  starry  nights, 
How  deepest  speech  unuttered  often  lies, 
And  that  Jehovah's  lessons  mostly  He  implies. 

XII. 

My  birth-place  where  the  scrub-wood  .thicket 

grows, 

My  mother  bound,  and  daily  toil  my  dower; 
I  envy  not  the  halo  title  throws 
Around  the  birth  of  any;  place  and  power 
May  be  but  empty  phantoms  of  an  hour,  — 
For  me,  I  find  a  more  enduring  bliss : 
Rejoicing  fields,  green  woods  —  the  stream  — 

the  flower, 

To  me  have  speech,  and  born  of  God  are  his 
Interpreters,  proclaiming  what  true  greatness  is. 

XIII. 

Where'er  I  roam,  in  all  the  earth  abroad, 
I  find  this  written  in  the  human  chart: 
A  love  of  Nature  is  the  love  of  God, 
And  love  of  man  's  the  religion  of  the  heart. 
Man's  right  to  think,  in  his  majestic  part 
In  his  Creator's  works  —  to  others  bless  — 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


This  is  the  point  whence  god-like  actions  start, 

And  open,  conscientious  manliness 

Is  the  divinest  image  mortals  can  possess. 

XIV. 

Almighty  fairness  smiling  heaven  portends, 
In  sympathy  the  elements  have  tears; 
The  meekest  flow'rs  are  their  Creator's  friends, 
The  hungry  raven  He  in  patience  hears ; 
And  e'en  the  sparrow's  wishes  reach  His  ears ! 
But  when  He  treads  the  tyrant  in  His  wrath, 
And  to  crush  wrong  the  horn  of  battle  rears, 
The  pestilence  goes  forth  on  him  who  hath 
Transgressed,  and  empires  fall  imploring  in  His 
path. 

XV. 

A  god-like  man  is  fair  to  fellow-men, 
And  gentleness  is  native  in  his  soul ! 
He  sees  no  fault  in  man  till  forced,  and  then 
He  wonders  't  were  not  greater.    He  is  whole 
In  valor  mercy  love  and  self-control. 
Virtue  is  his  religion  —  Liberty 
His  shrine  —  honest  contentment  is  his  goal 
And  sum  of  bliss,  and  his  life  aims  to  be 
In  nothing  excellent,  save  that  which  leaves  man 
free. 

XVI. 

I  envy  not  the  man  whose  want  of  brains 
Supplies  a  roost  for  race-hate's  filthy  brood! 
The  little  eminence  his  soul  attains 
Is  more  the  pity  when  'tis  understood, 
That  he  perhaps  has  done  the  best  he  could ! 
Tread  not  upon  him  just  to  see  him  squirm! 
Pity  forsooth!  to  crawl  is  his  best  good, 
And  'tis  his  nat'ral  way,  I  do  affirm ; 
So,  let  him  crawl  his  fill,  he  is  a  harmless  worm  I 

XVII. 

A  lovely  sunset  fills  the  evening  sky, 
On  glorified  peaks  the  cloud-rims  slowly  fade, 
Till  comes  the  darkened  east  on  quietly 
Extending  o'er  the  earth  a  solemn  shade ! 
All  things  are  silent,  save  the  whispers  made 
By  drowsy  pines  o'er  where  deep  solitude 
Rock  cavern  hill  and  valley  doth  pervade. 
Now  sinks  a  glimmering  spirit  in  the  wood, 
And  the  dark  brow  of  heav'n  with  myst'ry  is 
imbued  I 

XVIII. 

How  changed  the  hour !    How  sweet  to  be  alone 
In  meditations !    'Bove  thee  sweep  thy  sight 
O'er  the  unconscious  world,  a  baldic  zone 


Of  heavenly  sapphires  burns!     Behind  the  hight 
The  tranquil  moon  appears,  and  peerless  night 
Asserts  her  brilliant  reign !     Oh !  mystery, 
Interpreter  of  yon  far  mansions  bright, 
To  find  what  their  night  cogitations  be, 
My  soul  would  mount  its  eager  way  and  dwell 
with  thee ! 

XIX. 

The  portals  of  Thine  upper  House  O  God! 
Portend  a  kindred  of  their  worlds  to  me  I 
O !  how  the  coming  of  Thy  light  abroad, 
Doth  lift  my  soul  adoring  up  to  Thee ! 
And  is  it  not  benign  that  I  should  see? 
How  could  my  heart  in  disobedience  sink, 
While  round  me  rolls  infinite  harmony, 
And  thou  dost  woo  my  spirit  forth  to  think, 
And  wait  with   Thine    eternal   sons   upon  the 
brink! 

XX. 

Thou  awful  One !  Thy  willing  creature  hear ! 
Help  Thou  my  soul  in  patience  here  to  wait; 
And  how  soe'er  to  me  Thou  dost  appear, 
Lead  me  to  look  towards  Thine  upper  gate ! 
Thy  tender  goodness  is  to  me  so  great, 
And  Thou  so  near  me  hast  Thy  wonders  brought. 
Oh!  help  me  love  Thee  more  in  Thine  estate, 
And  love  my  fellow  mortal  as  I  ought ! 
Then  grant  that  I  come  to  Thine  upper  home  of 
thought. 

XXI. 

When  we  behold  yon  citizens  of  heaven, 
Oh!  why  should  man  oppress  his  brother  here? 
How  sweet  to  think  a  Father's  love  hath  given 
To  man  the  task  to  beautify  this  sphere, 
And  dwell  in  peace  upon  it  everywhere ! 
The  noblest  nights  e'er  found  by  angels'  ken, 
The  grandest  vistas  that  to  them  appear, 
Make  not  celestial  joys  so  sweet  as  when 
They  see  our  earth  a  heaven  —  a  brotherhood 
of  men! 

XXII. 

Love  in  the  forest,  —  this  shall  be  my  theme  — 
Was  like  a  charming  spirit  in  the  wild 
Where  dwelt  Atlassa.    It  to  him  did  seem 
That  all  the  earth  with  tints  of  promise  smiled. 
And  since  he  met  Palmecho  and  his  child, 
The  waves  of  Mickasukie  sang  more  sweet. 
The  hoarse  old  pines  did  even  speak  more  mild, 
The  wild  flow'rs  brightened  in  their  mossy  seat 
And  Ewald's  whispers  lingered  in  the  wind's  re- 
treat. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OK,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


17 


XXIII. 

No  wonder  he  from  forest  sports  should  turn, 
No  wonder  that  he  learned  the  Spanish  tongue — 
And  to  Twasinta  went  that  he  might  learn : 
Nor  is  it  strange  that,  his  rude  tribes  among, 
The  useful  arts  soon  into  being  sprung. 
The  faithful  exile  in  his  fields  was  seen ; 
His  herds  were  watched  and  numbered  old  and 

young; 

With  waving  corn  the  valleys  soon  were  green, 
And  pleasant  houses  reared  where  wigwams  erst 

had  been. 

XXIV. 

The  warrior's  blade  now  rusted  in  his  halls, 
The  incantations  of  the  seer  were  done; 
Free  hearts  arose  at  labor's  urgent  calls, 
And  strong  hands  had  their  cheerful  tasks  be- 
gun: 

Soon  fields  of  plenty  rose  to  greet  the  sun. 
Instead  of  savage  revels,  now  the  feast 
Of  harvests  was  prolonged:  and  there  was  none 
So  proud  as   our   young   chief   that   wars  had 

ceased, — 

So  plain  is  love  the   proof   that   man   is   not  a 
beast. 

XXV. 

The  faithful  exile,  always  giv'n  to  boast, 
In  deep'ning  converse  with  the  Seminole, 
Would  vow  that  "  in  all  Carolina's  coast  — 
All  Georgia  —  Alabama  —  all  the  whole 
Wide  world,  there  was  not  such  a  sunny  soul 
As  that  young  dark-eyed  angel  of  the  West!" 
Then  thus  his  instances  would  he  unroll : 
"  Just  see  her  feet,  her  hands,  her  timid  breast, 
Her  mouth,  her  hair  —  but  oh!  her  dark  eyes 
never  rest!" 

XXVI. 

The  Seminole  would  nod  his  gruff  assent, 

And  long  and  stout  they  shook  each  other's 

hands. 
The  "  queen  oi  blossoms  "  was  the  name  that 

went 

The  rounds  of  all  the  Mickasukie  bands. 
Ewald  was  princess  of  the  sunny  lands 
And  as  from  lip  to  lip  her  mention  ran, 
Atlassa's  inward  promise  to  his  hands, 
Was  valiant  deeds  and  glory  in  the  van,  — 
So  sure  does  love  inspire  the  manliness  of  man. 


XXVII. 

Ewald  the  idol  of  Twasinta's  shades,  — 
Palmecho's  pride  and  jewel  of  his  care, 
Well  loved  her  chieftain  of  the  everglades : 
The  matchless  watcher  of  the  forests  fair. 
As  free  as  pine -watched  Tampa's  breezy  air, 
The  head  and  boast  of  his  intrepid  race, 
His  brow  was  noble, — valor's  seat  was  there  — 
His  mien  was  princely  and  the  eye  could  trace 
The  warrior  soul  that  warmed  his  wildly  hand- 
some face. 

XXVIII. 

Till  stars  were  out,  Ewald  stood  half  afraid  — 
Half  conscious  of  the  hour  —  nor  till  the  moon 
Was  in  the  misty  vale,  could  she  persuade 
Herself  that  her  young  chief  must  not  come 

soon: 
'Twas  when  the  whip-poor-will's  loud  wizard 

tune 
Had  warned  her  from  the  brake,  that  she  could 

leave ; 

Turning  to  go,  —  then  pausing  to  commune 
With  shadowy  thoughts,  that  fancy's  touch  did 

weave 
Into  a  spell-like  hope  that  she  might  him  receive. 


XXIX. 

And  now  she  heard  Twasinta's  watchdogs  bark 
At  many  a  drowsy  cotter's  distant  door, 
Baying  such  sounds  as  travel  after  dark, 
Leaving  the  after-stillness  stilly  more. 
Thus  are  we  warned  by  dogs,  some  say,  before 
Eventful  times,  — whether  this  doth  reveal, 
Or  not,  some  mystery  in  canine  lore,  — 
The  dog's  unwonted  barking's  apt  to  steal 
O'er  us  at  night,  and  make  us  strange  misgivings 
feel. 

XXX. 

The  very  air  uneasily  did  creep 

Among  the  maples  darkling  overhead; 

And  as  she  reached  her  gateway  on  the  steep, 

She  found  Palmecho,  prying  out,  who  said : 

"  There's  wrong  abroad,  my  Ewald,  something 

dread 

Is  sure  to  happen;"  and  while  yet  he  spake 
A  hasty  footman  from  the  forests  sped  — 
It  was  an  exile,  who  his  way  did  make 
Straight  to  Palmecho,  some  alarming  news  to- 

break. 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES;    OR,    RAPE    OF   FLORIDA. 


XXXI. 

As  Ewald  passed,  she  heard  Atiassa's  name. 
Wide  thro'  Twasinta  spread  the  hasty  news, 
Like  stubbles  crackling  in  a  wind-swept  flame. 
Ah!  now  was  trouble's  somber  currents  loose! 
With  muttered  threats  and  presages  profuse, 
The  young  men's  speeches  stirred  the  eager 

crowd ; 

Whilst  old  men  thought  up  their  ancestral  views, 
And   triumphs,  that   well   made   the   warrior 

proud  — 
But  all  for  action  were  unanimous  and  loud. 


XXXII. 

At  daybreak,  ere  a  flock  fresh  scattering  browsed 
The  still  gray  slopes,  the  loud  echoing  horn, 
With  sudden  'larum,  all  Twasinta  roused; 
And  quietude  was  in  her  bosom  torn! 
^How  dreadful  was  confusion  on  that  mornl 
Soon  forth  from  early  field  and  drowsy  cot, 
Palmecho's  servants,  mutt'ring  wrath  or  scorn, 
O'er  fence  and  ditches  hurried  to  the  spot 
Whence  came  the  signals  to  repel  a   dastard 
plot! 

XXXIII. 

Hoe  axe  and  pick  were  clashing  on  the  air, 
Old  swords  and  muskets  made  by  long  disuse 
And  ancient  rust  to  look  grim  things  were  there ! 
Club   scythe  and   rake  —  whatever  one  might 

choose, 

In  one  commingling  torrent  now  were  loose ! 
It  was  a  ghastly  sea,  whose  surge  pressed  surge, 
All  ploughed  to  frothy  anger  by  abuse, 
That  now  did  roarl  and  on  the  sudden  verge 
Of  desperation  men  stood  nerved  the  worstjto 

urge! 

XXXIV. 

Behind  them  we  re  their  homes  wives  children  — 

all! 
Forth  in  the  breach   sons    husbands,  fathers 

stood 

To  meet  what  came  if  e'en  the  heav'ns  must  fall ! 
Thro'  unpolluted  fields  by  Waxe's  flood, 
O'er  meadows  sweet  and  in  the  palmy  wood, 
The  armor  of  the  foe  gleamed  in  the  sun: 
Proud  was  the  aged  maroon's  incensed  mood, 
As  forth  to  meet  them  in  a  feeble  run, 
He  waved  his  servants  back,  and  thus  his  speech 

begun : 


XXXV. 

"What  troop  is  this  that  comes  to  mine  abode! 
What  seek  ye  here?    Intruders!  will  ye  dare 
To  hoof  my  grounds?    Why  shun  yon  open  road ! 
Age  quencheth  not  resentment!  and  beware, 
Whoe'er  ye  be,  or  whence  soe'er  ye  are, 
Ye  come  no  further!  "    Rapid  gestures  told 
How  he  was  moved;  but  without  heed  or  care, 
On  rode  the  soldiers  till  he  had  seized  hold 
One's  reins,  and  felt  a  sabre's  blow  that  laid  him 
cold. 

XXXVI. 

The  mutt'ring  breaks!— a  yell!  — a  rush!  — a 

rage! 

The  servants  come!  blades  clatter  missiles  fly! 
The  trained  dragoons  in  battle-form  engage 
These  rude  brave   fellows  —  aim  with   deadly 

eye  — 

Fall  back  in  line,  reload  and  deadlier  try 
Successive  aims !  —  ah !  but  the  gods  inspire 
The  freemen  who  see  freemen  by  him  die !  — 
Each  soldier's  shot  but  builds  the  unconquered 

fire, 
Twasinta's  sons  come  on  to  rescue  or  expire ! 


XXXVII. 

Around  their  prostrate  chieftain  they  contend, 
The  foe's  dread  volleys  can  not  hinder  more ! 
In  strong  arms  seized,  their  bleeding  father- 
friend 

Is  borne  away,  as  from  the  mansion  door 
Flies  a  sweet  form,  in  frantic  fondness  o'er 
Her  sire  to  bend!    But  hark!  what  means  the 

cries 

That  startle  silent  Waxe's  utmost  shore? 
With  bated  breath  full  soon  each  dragoon  eyes 
His  rear,  faces  about  puts  spurs  and  headlong 
flies. 

XXXVIII. 

Atiassa's  fearless  plume  was  now  in  sight, 
His  Seminoles  towards  Twasinta  cheered. 
Twasinta  answered  with  her  valiant  might. 
And  deaf'ning  shouts  did  greet  them  as  they 

neared! 

Till  on  Palmecho's  threshold  they  appeared, 
The  tempest  of  rejoicings  held  its  sway ; 
Then  on  the  roof  the  flag  of  Spain  was  reared, 
And  Mickasukie's  braves  the  live  long  day, 
Were  thro1  Twasinta  led  in  many  a  festive  way. 


Proud  spirit  of  the  hommock-bounded  home 
Well  wast  thy  valor  like  a  buckler  worn  ! 

Twasinta's  Seminoles ;  or,  Rape  of  Florida. —  Page  JO,  Stanza  xxiii. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  or  FLORIDA. 


xxxix. 

Did  bivouac  fires  e'er  shed  a  holier  light 

O'er  the  eternal  slumbers  of  the  slain, 

Tho'    kings    were  conquered  than    was   seen 

that  night, 

From  candles  burning  on  Twasinta's  plain? 
Or  where  the  hearth-fire  kindled  hope  again? 
Roll  the  loud  drum!  and  fill  the  brazen  blast! 
Heralds  report  the  laureled  victor's  train!  — 
Let  royal  cups  to  valor's  lips  be  past, 
And  still  Twasinta's  sons  their  undimmed  glory 

hast. 

XL. 

Of  how  Atlassa's  hours  that  night  went  by, 
As  he  with  Ewald  watched  his  aged  friend, 
There's  none  mote  ask,  for  none  mote  aim  to 

pry 

In  sacred  things,  — the  eye  would  e'en  offend 
If  it  should  touch  them !  —  angels  might  not 

bend 

In  admiration  or  they  must  desire 
A  mortal  hour  or  two  on  earth  to  spend : 
So  let  us  leave  the  mansion  nor  aspire 
To  feast  a  curious  gaze  whence  angels  should 

retire 

XLI. 

Oh!  what  a  change  one  fleeting  hour  may  bring! 
What  grand  achievements  may  escape  the  hand, 
When  man  had  seemed  to  vanquish  everything! 
Fate,  stern  Dictatress  but  assumes  her  wand 
And  wizard  throne  I  —  the  doomed  on  sea  and 

land 

Doth  fall  by  her  irrevocable  thrust! 
The  King  descends  to  beg  at  her  command, 
The  pride  of  empire  humbles  in  the  dust, 
And  all  that  man  would  do  bows  down  to  what 

he  must. 

XLII. 

She   waves     in    air, — unreefs    the    tempest's 

shrouds ! 

She  throws  a  spark  red  angry  flame  forth  flies 
And  climbs  the  palace  dome  into  the  clouds, 
To  melt  in  ruins  the  toil  of  centuries ! 
Lol  where  yon  sea-watched  mountains  darkly 

rise! 
She  thrusts  them  in  their  rock-seamed  armor 

brown ; 

Volcano  leaps  to  the  night-glaring  skies, 
An  earthquake  drinks  the  crumbling  city  down, 
And  hashed  on  high  the    monster  wrecks  of 

Ocean  frown. 


XLIII. 

Vain  mortals  we!   fond  worms!  how  slow  to 

note! 

Man  is  but  man !    The  subjects  at  his  feet 
To-day  may  aim  to-morrow  at  his  throat. 
Before  whom  he,  in  open  battle  beat 
An  hour  ago,  this  hour  he  may  retreat ; 
Or  on  his  armored  night-invincible 
He  may  fall  by  the  cunning  of  deceit. 
From  first  to  last,  in  spite  of  human  will, 
Fate  ever  moves  unfoiled,  Dictatress  stern  and 

still. 

XLIV. 

Fate  comes  at  last,  no  telling  where  nor  when ! 
The  flag  of  truce  from  San  Augustine's  gate, 
And  oily  speeches  of  designing  men, 
Reduced  Twasinta's  sons  in  their  estate! — 
Palmecho,  at  the  council  table  sate 
To  prove  by   word   what   they    in   arms  had 

claimed, 

The  right  to  live  as  freemen,  small  and  great — 
But,  be  it  said    and    *****    ^ust  fce 

blamed ; 
This  land  should  blush  when'er  a  flag  of  truce 

is  named. 

XLV. 

Palmecho  spoke  of  wars,  and  rights,  and  lands, 
The  hardened  pirates    *****    at  their 

head, 

Heard   with  deep  ire  the  brave  old  chief's  de- 
mands ! 

With  inborn  hate  they  gave  him  chains  instead, 
And  forth  to  seize  his  daughter  hotly  sped ; 
But  mounting  for  the  wilds,  her  valiant  steed 
Swept   where   the    whist' ling   cypress  darkly 

spread, 

And  bore  from  sight  in  his  pursuers'  lead, 
Foaming  the  scornful  boast,  that  Ewald  should 
be  freed. 

XLVI. 

'Tis  night,  the  gathering  storm  approaches  fast ; 
Dark  roll  the    low'ring  clouds    o'er  Tampa's 

flood; 

Earth  groans  as  thunders  utter  forth  their  blast, 
And  light'nings  gleam  across  the  startled  wood ! 
'Tis  as  if  Terror,  calling  up  her  brood, 
Did  howl  to  hear  their  deep  responsive  howls; 
Or  Darkness  from  her  nether  caverns  stood, 
To  horrify  with  most  unmortal  scowls 
And  glints  the  habitations  of  unhappy  souls ! 


20 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES  ;    OR,    RAPE    OF    FLORIDA, 


XLVII. 

Ah!  such  a  night!     How  pallid  nature  reels 
And  shudders  in  the  face  of  what  forebodes  I 
And  flying  at  Destruction's  furious  wheels 
The  wrath  and  pennons  of  insatiate  gods 
Now  seem  to  rush!    'Tis  still!    And  now  the 

floods 
Of  heav'n  break  up  I     The  big  drops  spatt'ring 

break! 
Down!   down!   the   sluices  pour!  The  dre achy 

roads 
Are    streams  of    sheety  flame !     The  pine  tops 

quake 
And  howl  in  direful  hubbub  as  the  winds  awake  J 


XLVIII. 

Ah!  such  a  night!   And  who  is  this  abroad? 
Lo!  Where  'mid  Tampa's  pines  she  darts  along! 
Unreigned  her  fiery  courser  spurns  the  road, 
And  leaps  away  the  crashing  trees  among! 
Oh!  can  Ewald,  so  innocent  and  young, 
Thus  like  a  spirit  of  the  storm  fly  on ! 
Ah!  but  the  heart  of  gentleness  is  strong 
When  woman  sallies  forth,  unhelped,  alone, 
With  but  one  star  of  hope,  and  that  one  almost 
gone. 

XLIX. 

To  where  a  hunter's  lodge  gleams   thro'  the 

trees, 

She  turns  her  champing  steed  and  hails  outright; 
A  warrior  answering  in  the  door  she  sees, — 
"  Who's  this  abroad  in  such  a  stormy  night?" 
She  answers  not,  but  straightway  doth  alight, 
And  when  her  quick  eyes  and  Atlassa's  meet, 
He  stands  with  stark  amazement,   speechless 

quite. 

'<  'Tis  I,  Atlassa,"  now  with  accents  sweet, 
The  trembling  Ewald  speaks,  as  swift  her  heart 

doth  beat. 

L. 

They  enter,  and  the  chieftain  lowly  bows, — 
He  leads  Ewald  and  quickly  draws  a  seat; 
His  warriors  sit  around  in  silent  rows, 
And  on  their  camp  skins  draw  away  their  feet, 
While  their  brave  eyes  in  secret  wonder  meet; 
Till  thus  to  speak  began  their  lovely  guest; 
They  knew  her  language  and  her  words  were 

sweet  — 

"  Warriors,  I  come  to  you  with  what,  expressed, 
Will  cause  a  rankling   fire  to  burn  a  valiant 

breast." 


LI. 

"At  San  Augustine  now  Palmecho  pines, — 
They  chained  him  at  the  council  there  to-day ! 
The  dungeon's  gloom  his  aged  sight  confines, 
I  saw  the  armed  men  dragging  him  away! 
1  Seize  now  his  child!'  I  heard  a  grim  voice  say, 
And  but  for  my  brave  steed  that  bore  me  here, 
I  too  had  been  in  chains,  a  prisoner  — nay, 
Had  been  the  mock  and  jests  of  wild  beasts, 

where, 
To  bear  man's  wrongs  were  death,  and  tenfold 

more  severe." 

LII. 

Where  glared  the  camp  fire,  now  Atlassa  rose, — 
His  oft-tried  warriors  waited  his  command. 
A    downward    glance     on    these    he    sternly 

throws, — 
They  seize  their  arms  and  close  around    him 

stand ! 

Dangers  ne'er  bristled  round  a  braver  band  I 
Half  list'ning,  as  for  foes,  the  chief  begun, 
While  tenderly  he  held  young  Ewald1  s  hand : 
"Witness     ye   braves,  who  oft  have  battles 

won, — 
Speak  now,  what  peril  did  Atlassa  ever  shun?" 


LIII. 

"  Witness  ye  pines  on  Mickasukie's  shore! 
Witness  ye  brakes  and  glens  of  Florida! 
Did  ever  I  disgrace  the  soil  that  bore 
My  race  by  coward's  act?    From  Tampa  Bay, 
Have  I  not  met  the  armed  foe  in  the  way, 
E'en  to  these  bounds?    Ye    Seminoles    once 

brave — 

Brave  ever!  witness  that  I  now  do  say: 
Let  not  my  country  owe  me  e'en  a  grave, 
If  Sire  Palmecho  pine  one  fortnight  more   a 

slave!" 

LIV. 

Ewald  now  from  her  neck  toss'd  tresses  wild, 
And  gazed  upon  her  chieftain's  valiant  face  — 
Hope  lit  the  spirit  of  the  woman-child! 
While  with  the  native  courage  of  his  race, 
A  warrior  pluck'd  his  chief's   knife  from  its 

place, 

And  waving  it  aloft,  stern-looking,  cried : 
",Who  wears  this  blade  and  doth  the  task  em- 
brace 

To  free  Palmecho,  weal  or  woe  betide, 
I'll  follow  where  he  goes  or  perish  at  his  side!" 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA.  • 


21 


LV. 

Loud  rang  the  shouts ;  the  storm  heard  and  the 

night, 

The  Seminole,  the  dread  of  Tampa's  coast, 
Was  in  his  bosom  stirred!  aud  in  such  might, 
Not  Buena  Vista's  hero,  Mexic's  boast, 
Nor  war-worn  Clinch's  mercenary  host 
Could    drive  him   back:     "She  is  our  natal 

star!  " 
They  cried  and  yelled,  for  who  should  yell  the 

most; 

"  Her  beauty  shines  on  us  from  Candahar, 
Lead  us  to  bring  Palmecho  to  his  home  afarl  " 


LIX. 

How  passing  strange!     He  climbs  the  awful 

steep 

To  sit  upon  the  bald  old  eagle's  hight,  — 
Goes  down  for  treasures  in  the  coralled  deep  — 
Disputes  the  reign  of  tempest-warring  night, 
Quenches  the  flames  of  war,  —  nor  famine's 

blight, 

Nor  burning  Equinox,  nor  Arctic  cold, 
Can  stay  him  in  his  universal  might! 
Stranger  than  life,  a  gentle  prince  and  bold, 
In  lovely  woman's  eyes  his  palace  you   behold. 


LVI. 

Atlassa  spoke :     "  At  morn  bring  up  her  steed, 
And  lead  her  to  our  village  by  the  lake : 
The  haughty  foe  a  cougar's  cry  may  heed, 
And  cow'r  ere  yet  the  glinted  morn  shall  wake! 
Loud!  loud  till  then,  and  dark,  thou  tempest, 

break! 

Eock  San  Augustine's  sentry  in  his  sleep 
Till  I  shall  come!  "    He  paused,  adieu  to  take, 
And  out  into  the  pitchy  woods  did  leap, 
While  at  his  heels  two  braves  their  stormy  way 

did  keep. 

LVII. 

How  passing  strange  is  love !     His  airy  wing, 

Soft  as  gossamer,  may  rest  on  a  beam, 

Or  glow  in  summer  mists !    He  haunts  the  spring, 

Gay  in  the  ripplings  of  the  sunbright  stream! 

He  revels  daylong  in  a  rain  show'r's  dream, 

And  is  a  truant  'mid  the  lisping  leaves, 

On   languid  mosses  where   the   young  flow'rs 

teem, 

A  garland  for  his  fairy  mate  he  weaves, 
And  hears  such  elfin  strains  as  no  dull  ear  re- 
ceives. 

LVIII. 

Ah!  yet  how  strange  is  love!    He  tunes  his 

shell 

To  breathing  violets,  and  to  the  show'r, 
He  says  sweet  things  in  song;    his  whispers 

dwell 

Upon  the  wind's  lips  —  he  smiles  in  each  flow'r, 
Laughs  in  the  joyous  rustle  of  the  bow'r, 
And  murmurs  where    the   breezeless  willows 

pine; 

He  chirrups  in  the  morning's  dew-fresh  hour, 
Deep  in  the  lulled  shade  flees  the  midday  shine, 
And  like  a  spell  pervades  the  evening's  gray 

decline. 


LX. 


He  is  capricious  often  seizing  hearts 

That  least  suspect  him  and  as  often  he 

Doth  sport  with  trials  —  whence  his  sudden 

starts, 

Hairbreadth  escapes,  and  bouts  in  which  to  be, 
Not  always  seems  most  wise  to  chastity, 
In  passionate  momentary  wanderings, 
Or  long  consistent  quiets,  ever  free,  — 
Sweet  welcome  spirit,  where  he  rests  his  wings 
Divinest  charms  invest  the  commonest  of  things  I 


LXI. 

If  now  the  bright  sensation  of  an  hour, 

He  flits  from  scene  to  scene  in  gorgeous  hues, 

Soon  o'er  his  bloom-sweet  task  his  wings  will 

low'r, 

And  he  with  busy  hopes  content,  will  choose 
To  taste  the  sweets  of  toil-inducing  dews; 
And  fail  at  last,  or  blossom  with  success, 
His  task  is  sweet,  and  he  cannot  refuse. 
Thrice  blessed  himself,  his  mission  is  to  bless  — 
And  iron-visaged  fate  will  smile  in  his  caress. 


LXII. 

I  pity  him  who  ne'er  has  loved  a  woman, 

And  that  outright,  —  with  all  her  faults  thrown 

in; 

For  the  sole  reason  is,  that  he  is  no  man, 
And  wears  the  downcast  of  orig'nal  sin! 
Who  cannot  look  in  woman's  eyes,  and  win 
That  glimpse  of  heaven  that  Adam  erst]  de- 
rived 

From  dwelling  near  enough  to  see  within? 
Love's  just  the  Eden  of  which  he's  deprived, 
Who  has  not  truly  loved,  has  never  truly  lived. 


22 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OK,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


LXIII. 

A  hunter's  lodge  in  Tampa's  woods  at  night,  — 
A  raging  storm  abroad  —  Palmecho  chained  — 
And  still  where  gleamed  the  hearth's  uncertain 

light, 

Ewald  felt  something  in  her  heart  which  pained, 
Both  when  it  left  her  and  when  it  remained* 
Vacant  she  gazed,  forgetting  to  forget; 
Thoughts   light   as   failing  shadows  were    re- 
tained, — 

She  shut  them  out  —  they  toyed  with  her  yet, — 
Such  is  the  fate  of  those  who  toil  in  young  love's 
net. 

LXIV. 

'Twas  true,  Atlassa's  fame  was  greatly  known, 
His  deeds  of  valor  thrilled  on  many  a  tongue ; 
Palmecho  proudly  did  his  friendship  own; 
He  knew  the  father  —  then  the  son  was  young  — 
He  too  was  mighty,  —  valiant  men  among  — 
Yes,  he  had  trained  his  only  gifted  son, 
Whose  name  of  late  in  every  council  rung; 
She  thought  all  this,  and  now  again  begun 
Thinking  of  him  —  no  —  of   herself  —  no,  not 
any  one  1 

LXV. 

A  father  held  in  chains !     She  thought  of  that, 
But  he  would  be  soon  rescued,  oh!  the  thought  I 
To  San  Augustine,  he  who  faltered  at 
No  mortal  peril,  soon  must  come  or  ought. 
Her  father  home  again  in  triumph  brought ! 
To  think!  song!  music!  dance  and  faces  bright! 
Greetings,  and  love  unhindered  and  untaught! 
All  this  went  in  her  mind,  as  at  the  light 
She  blindly  gazed,  forgetting  that  the  night  was 
night. 

LXVI. 

Now  while  her  friends  sit  round  to  watch  and 

guard, 
We  Cleave  her  with  them  and  her  thoughts  to 

stay. 

Fierce  o'er  the  parapets  the  lightnings  glared 
At  San  Augustine  —  dangerous  the  way, 
For,  in  their  drowsy  tents  an  army  lay  I 
Atlassa  crept  towards  a  grizzly  tow'r, 
Where  Is  the  storied  prison,  old  and  gray ; 
Louder  the  tempest  roared  in  that  grim  hour, 
And  rolled  the  sea  to  meet  the  heav'ns  that 

seem'd  to  low'r. 


LXVII. 

Dark  rose  the  walls,  a  church  and  prison  jomed, 
Their  kindred  glooms  to  blend  and  intermix. 
Dungeon'd  in  one,  the  unknown  victim  pined, 
And  in  the  other  mid  quaint  candlesticks, 
Somber  and  weird  arose  a  crucifix: 
How  fitly  these  portrayed  the  men  who  built 
A  house  of  God  o'er  shadowed  by  old  Nick's  — 
Vain  man,  to  thus  offend  thy  Maker!  wilt 
Thou  look  on  images  to  take  away  thy  guilt! 


LXVIII. 

How  slight  the  transit  superstition  makes 
From  common  crime  to  acts  of  righteousness! 
E'en  human  life  in  willful  hate  she  takes,      • 
Makes  earth  a  waste  and  desert  of  distress, 
Where  lust  and  rapine  rival  in  excess ; 
Then  from  the  smoke  of  some  mysterious  rite, 
She  shadows  forth  in  all  as  if  to  bless! 
And  who  disputes  must  perizh  in  her  sight, 
An  heretic,  an  enemy  of  God  and  right! 


LXIX. 

Man  will  hold  some  religion,  most  believe, 
Mainly  to  hush  the  soul's  rebuke  of  wrong; 
They  would  their  very  conscious  selves  deceive, 
By  hearing  God's  will  in  an  unknown  tongue, 
And  recitals  not  understood  and  long. 
Hence,  from  the  conscience,  they  with  ease  ap- 
peal 

To  crime's  high  court,  the  mysteries  among. 
What  then  are  human  hearts?  —  earth's  woe  or 

weal 

When  man  wrongs  man,  inspired  divinely  not  to 
feel  ? 

LXX. 

Thus  envy's  blist'rous  tongue  her  victim  smites, 
Malice    her    bludgeon    whirls,    Theic    stalks 

abroad, 

Lust  thrives,  and  like  a  deadly  serpent  bites, 
And  highway  vandalism  takes  the  road 
To  spoil  the  earth  and  preach  the  word  of  God! 
Oh!  infamous  insult  to  heaven  and  earth! 
Well  was  the  ground  on  Sin's  account  called 

Nod! 

The  sum  of  crimes  that  have  religious  birth 
Would  blight  the  hills  of  God  and  smite  them 

with  a  dearth 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OK,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


23 


LXXI. 

Thus,  San  Augustine's  church  and  prison  joined, 
Fitly  portrayed  crime's  eminent  success ; 
When    hounds   and   murderous   troops   were 

loosed  to  find 

The  unsuspecting  exile,  and  to  press 
The  wretched  Seminole  from  his  recess 
In  hommock  far,  or  by  the  dark  bayou ; 
To  burn  his  corn-fields  in  the  wilderness, 
And  drag  the  helpless  child  and  mother  thro* 
Infested  swamps  to  die  in  chains  as  felons  ,do. 


LXXII. 

Start  not!  the  church  and  prison  are  our  text. 
The  Seminole  and  exile  far  removed 
From  busier  scenes,  led  harmless  lives  unvexed 
And  unmolested  mid  the  groves  they  loved ; 
Till  proud  Columbia  for  all  time  proved 
How  much  her  high  religion  could  perform, 
When  her    slave-holding    sons     were    truly 

moved  I  — 

How  soon  her  pious  bosom  could  grow  warm, 
When  heathen  tribes  submitted  to  hercuel  arm. 


LXXIII. 

If  e'er  the  muse  of  hist'ry  sits  to  write, 

And  Florida  appear  upon  her  page, 

This  nation's  crimes  will   blush  the  noonday 

light, 
^d  ******  »g  name  will  lead  ner  CPiminai 

age! 

Of  all  the  cruel  wars  she  e'er  did  wage, 
The  cruelest  will  be  to  him  assigned ! 
The  hardened  soldier's  lust,  the  bloodhound's 

rage 

And  San  Augustine's  church  and  prison  joined, 
Will  be  fit  monuments  for  his  chi valric  mind ! 


LXXIV. 

Extermination  was  his  highest  creed, 
Bondage  the  one  provision  of  his  will, 
The  blood  of  innocence  marred  not  the  deed. 
He  knew  no  art  of  warfare  but  to  kill : 
Slaying  was  sweet,  but  slaughter  sweeter  still ! 
A  human  monster,  traced  thro*  tears  and  blood 
From  Blount's  poor  fort  on  Apalachi's  hill, 
To  Tampa's  waters  and  the  Mexic  flood,  — 
But,  to  forget  him  is  perhaps  a  common  good ! 


LXXV. 

Heard  ye  not  in  the  cypress  come  a  troop? 

Saw  ye  not  by  the  gray  old  battlement, 

In  fear's  deep  anguish  hurdled  exiles  stoop ; 

Wife,  mother,  child  within  the  stockade  pent, 

As  down  the  angry  Apalachi  went 

The  steamy  monitor,  to  belch  out  death, 

While  savage  Creeks  rushed  thro*  the  bloody 

rent 

Made  by  the  iron  havoc  of  its  breath, 
To  massacre  the  wounded  that  did  shriek  be- 
neath? 

LXXVI. 

A  sense  of  wrong  burned  in  Atlassa's  veins, 
Flowed  with  his  life,  and  like  a  fever  eat; 
No  coward's  act  upon  his  hands  left  stains; 
He  hated  e'en  the  likeness  of  deceit,  — 
In  equal  contest  he  knew  no  defeat  — 
The  one  brave  object  of  incessant  raids, 
E'en  Taylor's  vet' rans  from  him  must  retreat; 
So  fierce  he  stood  in  Mickasukie's  shades, 
The  invincible  watcher  of  the  everglades! 

LXXVII. 

But,  on  he  fares  beneath  the  prison  walls, 
The  gates  are  shut,  and  stoutly  barred  the  door; 
A  drowsy  sent'nel  slumbers  in  the  halls, 
And  growls  a  snarlish  cur  upon  the  floor. 
Quickly  Atlassa  scans  the  building  o'er, 
Locates  each  striking  object,  and  discerns 
How  best  to  lead  assault,  and  leaves  before 
A  soldier  of  his  daring  venture  learns ; 
Leaps  from  the  walls  and  to  his  waiting  braves 
returns. 

LXXVIII. 

O'er  San  Augustine's  gloomy  turrets  rose 
Serenest  morn,  —  forth  from  a  brilliant  rift, 
Where  barring  clouds  till  now  the  east  did  close, 
The  bright  sun  shone.    Vapors  began  to  drift 
Along  the  valleys,  and  from  forests  lift 
Their  mantling  mists.    Refreshed  the  wide  earth 

woke, 

And  to  her  joyous  hosts  renewed  the  gift 
Of  song  and  vigor:  field  and  woodland  spoke, 
And  rousing   drums    anon,   the   camp's    deep 

slumbers  broke. 


LXXIX. 

The  busy  tents  below  the  chieftain  stirred, 
The  troops  were  seen  towards  a  center  come ; 
And  now  the  officers'  clear  calls  he  heard,  — 


TWASINTA  S   SEMINOLES;    OR,   KAPE   OF   FLORIDA. 


The  soldiers'    hurrying     tread  — the   rattling 

drum  — - 
The  "  halt"  the  "  forward!"  slow,  the  hush  I 

the  hum  — 
The  rush!  the  roar!  the  "double-quick,"  and 

then 

The  call,  the  count,  the  handling  wearisome 
Of    arms,   and    now    the    "double-quick!" 

again  — 
And  wondered  if  by  this  they  multiplied  their 

men  I 

LXXX. 

Forth  rode  the  tropers  in  the  rising  sun, 
To  march  against  some  unsuspecting  town. 
Atlassa  saw  them — idly  chatting  on, — 
Bright  gleamed  their  armor,  as  they  sauntered 

down 

The  sedgy  slope  with  boxwood  overgrown. 
Far  on  their  way  his  eager  eye  pursued ; 
The  pent  up  fires  that  with  his  life  had  flown, 
Now  flamed  anew,  and  as  he  gazing  stood ; 
Deep  in  his  soul  he  would  have  met  them  if  he 

could. 

LXXXI. 

Soon  from  the  gates  of  San  Augustine,  he 
Spied  water  carriers  making  for  a  brook 
Beneath   a  copse  — their   guards     were    only 

three. 

He  knew  Palmecho  by  his  high-born  look; 
This  was  his  time !  —forth  from  his  thick-wood 

nook, 

Covered  by  under-brush,  he  crept  around, 
And  near  the  stream  a  fair  position  took,  — 
Three  rifle  shots  loud  o'er  the  fort  did  sound, 
And  by  the  sallying   squads  the   three  dead 

guards  were  found. 


LXXXII. 

No  tidings  were  at  Mickasukie  heard 

Of  Ewald  or  her  guards,  at  late  nightfall. 

Atlassa  with  his  rescued  friend  appeared, 

But  joy  was  mute — a  deep  dread  did  enthrall, 

And  painful  apprehensions  trouble  all. 

Unuttered  anguish  settled  like  a  spell 

That  e'en  the  oldest  warriors  did  appall. 

"  Lost!  "  was  the  whisper  that  on  some  hearts 

fell, 
And  "carried  off!"  to  others   was  a  dismal 

knell! 


LXXXIII. 

Next  morn  Atlassa  and  his  daring  band 
Are  in  Twasinta,  yet  no  tidings  come. 
At  noon  they  wait  —  till  nightfall  is  at  hand, 
Still,  still  they  hope  that  Ewald  may  come  home. 
Suspense  yet  deepens,  still  they  look  for  some 
Unprobable  relief!    Palmecho's  groans 
Begin,  and  anguish  is  no  longer  dumb ! 
Among  his  friends  he  breaks  in  bitter  moans, 
And  like  a  hopeless  child  laments  in  falt'ring 
tones. 

LXXXIV. 

Atlassa  looks  upon  his  aged  friend, 
But  cannot  speak,  for  words  are  empty  now! 
Straight'ning  to  all  his  hight,  he  will  not  bend, 
For  valor  sits  enthroned  upon  his  brow,  — 
Readyjto  strike,  he  knows  not  where  nor  how? 
So  stands  a  lion  when  a  foe  he  hears, 
Knitting  his  nerves  to  deal  the  fatal  blow : 
Alarmed  not  that  a  dreadful  struggle  nears, 
But  furious  to  meet  who  stealthily  appears. 

LXXXV. 

Not  long  he  stood;  thrice  strode  he  in  the  halls, 
So  lately  made  the  scenes  of  loud  despair. 
Now  to  his  braves  in  undertones  he  calls,—- 
They  hear  but  answer  not,  —  with  utmost  care, 
He  seems  to  counsel  and  his  aims  declare. 
They  act  assent!  they  seize  their  arms!  they 

rise! 

The  signal  giv'n,  a  war-whoop  rends  the  air ! 
Back  to  his  clans  the  Seminole  now  flies, 
And  far  and  near  the  forest  answers  to  his 

cries! 

LXXXVI. 

11  My  tears  are  for  thee,  Ewald !    Oh !  my  tears  I 
My  cheeks  do  drink  them  as  the  parching  sod 
Drinks  up  the  rain!     How  joyless    now   my 

years! 

My  head  is  low!  Ah!  doth  this  heavy  rod 
Chastise  me  to  more  perfect  trust  in  God? 
Else  why,  my  sweet  child,  art  thou  gone  from 

me! 

But,  if  my  future  must  in  thorns  be  trod, 
I'll  gird  my  loins  about  with  strength,  and  be 
Faithful  till  death,  and  trust  my  Ewald  yet  to 

see!" 

LXXXVII. 

"  On  many  hills  my  herded  cattle  feed, 
My  flocks  are  fair  to  see ;  and  as  for  gold, 
It  falleth  never  to  my  lot  to  need. 


TWASINTA' s  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


My  maids  sing  to  me,  and  my  young  men  hold 

Their  peace  if  I  pass  by !    Now,  as  of  old, 

My  lands  do  drop  with  fatness !  —  yet,  have  I 

E'er  taken  ought  and  not  restored  fourfold? 

Have  I  not  filled  the  empty?    If  the  cry 

Of  any  widow  came  to  me,  drew  I  not  nigh?" 

LXXXVTII. 

"  What  have  I  coveted  ?    What  have  I  craved  ? 
Fame,  length  of  years,   or  glitt'ring  hoarded 

pounds? 

Is  God  not  reconciled,  am  I  not  saved 
In  my  Redeemer's  all-atoning  wounds? 
If  sin  aboundeth,  grace  much  more  abounds! 
Why,  then,  my  broken  spirit,  art  thou  cast 
A  fruitless  branch?  a  waste  on  barren  grounds? 
Ah !  when  the  summertide  of  life  is  past, 
Why  am  I  left  to  grieve  and  linger  on  at  last  I" 

LXXXIX. 

"  My  Ewald  was  a  young  roe  by  the  brook 
Of  a  well  upon  the  mountains !     She  stood 
In  quiet  places  by  the  rocks ;  she  took 
Alarm  at  winds  in  the  leaves  of  the  wood, 
And  shrank  backwards,  she  was  so  shyl    she 

could 

Lie  down  on  beds  of  violets,  and  they 
Rose  after  her!  — the  lilies  of  the  flood 
By  Candahar  did  love  her !    In  the  way 
From  Tampa  and  the  sea  'mong  sweet  shrubs 

was  her  stay." 

XC. 

"My  Ewald,    oh!    my   young  roe!    how   the 

shades 

Of  thy  Twasinta  mourn  I  Disconsolate 
Are  all  her  dwellings!     Eve  returns,  and  fades 
The  twilight  on  the  hills!  but  at  the  gate 
Beneath  the  elms,  no  more  do  congregate 
Our  maids  and  young  men!  our  old  men  call 

thee, 

But  them  thou  answer'st  not,  until  their  weight 
Of  grief,  by  reason  of  their  years,  can  be 
No  longer  borne !    The  matron's  eyes  are  tear- 
ful —  she 

XCI. 

"In  silence  waits,  thou  comest  not,  and  still 
Her  look  is  for  thy  coming!  Dumb  is  mirth! 
The  valleys  sing  not  —hushed  is  the  sad  hill! 
The  windows  are  darkened—  by  the  dim  hearth 


Our  eyes  have  run  down  till  there  is  a  dearth 
Of  tears !     Without  thee,  Ewald,  my  young  roe ! 
How  comfortless  is  all  the  bitter  earth! 
Ah!    whither  gone  my  child!    canst  thou  not 

know! 
How  thy  Twasinta  pineth!    how  her  head  is 

low! 

XCII. 

"  The  windows  of  high  thought  were  thy  two 

eyes, 
So    large,    dark    and    compelling!     Thy     fair 

breasts 

Were  even  domes  that  did  so  gradual  rise 
O'er  shrines  of  love !     The  shade  at  noon,  that 

rests 

On  Waxe's  cliffs,  is  thy  dark  brow.    The  vests 
Of  some  sweet  nun,   loose-falling  down,  thy 

hair! 

Thy  voice  was  like  the  turtle's  of  the  nests, 
Thy  step  was  as  the  flow'ret-pressing  air;  — 
Thou  idol  of  my  love,  my  Ewald  young  and 

fair! 

XCIII. 

Lamenting  thus,  up  rose  theiold  Maroon, 
Like  Abraham,  "  with  servants,"  and  went  out, 
Not  knowing  whither!     Till  the  pensive  moon 
Was  set,  and  darkness  like  a  pall,  about 
Him  fell,  he  pressed  his  strange  and  dismal 

route. 

Then  tenting  in  a  wilderness  unknown, 
By  those  whose  eyes  were  quick  and  arms  were 

stout, 

Securely  watched,  awearied  he  lay  down, 
In  prayer  and  bitter  meditations  all  alone ! 


CANTO  III. 


I. 


On  Tampa's  hights  gray  rose  the  battlements : 
A  summer's  day  had  gone  out  in  the  west; 
The  conflagration  in  the  elements 
Was  ended,  and  the  quiet  shades  of  rest 
Sank  like  a  dreamer's  visions  on  the  breast 
Of  far  reposing  nature.    Soft  the  hour 
Was,  brooding  on  the  bay,  and  gently  prest 
And  smoothed  its  bosom,  as  with  magic  power, 
And  fragrance  there  did  breathe  from  many 
wind -kissed  flow'r. 


26 


TWASINTA' s  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


II. 


Ewald  before  her  prison  window  sate 
And  leaned  her  face  against  the  iron  bar. 
The  pensive  winds  around  her  seemed  to  wait, 
As  o'er  Twasinta,  beaming  out  afar, 
Beyond  the  dusk,  she  saw  the  evening  star! 
With  friendly  gleam,  it  dropped  a  ray  of  cheer, 
And  seemed  to  wait  for  her  on  Candahar! 
And  when  it  beckoned  last  to  disappear, 
She  felt  her  eyes  grow  dim,  and  brushed  away  a 
tear. 

III. 

She  saw  the  sentry  pass  with  silent  feet, 
And  heard  the  waters  lisping  to  the  shore. 
Anon  the  muffled  drums  began  to  beat, 
And    moving    throngs    commenced   a    sullen 

roar,  — 

It  was  the  sound  of  captives  driv'n  before 
The  troops!    There  husbands,  wives  and  little 

ones, 

To  look  upon  Twasinta's  fields  no  more, 
Were  hurried  off.    She  heard  their  bitter  moans, 
And  clanking  chains  that  mingled  with  their 

rising  groans ! 

IV. 

The  ship  was  waiting  on  the  busy  tide, 

Palmecho's  faithful  friends  must  soon  be  gone, 

And  in  her  living  tomb  Ewald  must  bide 

The  stony  silence  of  her  fate  alone ! 

Ahl  how  was  her  young  bosom  then  undone! 

'Twere  better  that  her  wretched  friends  might  be 

Where  she  might  hear,  at  least,  a  kindred  groan ; 

But  all  was  over,  and  the  sullen  sea 

Boiled  on  as  ever,— an  unfathomed  mystery! 

V. 

There  is  a  grateful  balm  for  weeping  eyes! 
And  e'en  when  trouble's  little  rest  has  flown, 
Slumber,  at  vision's  tender  portals  tries, 
To  shut  the  fevered  lids  forgetful  down! 
Happy  the  soul  whose  rest  can  find  a  stone, 
If  gentle  slumber  soothe  the  aching  breast! 
Ewald  across  her  wretched  couch  had  thrown 
Herself,  and  closed  her  eyes  in  childish  rest  — 
Young  innocence  so  sweet  could  not  be  long  un- 
blest! 

VI. 

Ah!  did  she  dream!  for  still  her  natal  star, 
Above  the  valleys  shed  a  lingering  ray, 
And  seemed  to  wait  for  her  on  Candahar! 


Once  more  it  was  the  close  of  gentle  day ; 
A  spirit  brooded  on  the  hilltops  gray, 
And  in  the  dusk  were  mellow  sounds  abroad ! 
Up  from  the  solemn  woods  and  far  away, 
The  cheerful  lab'rer  from  his  maize  fields  strode, 
And  lads  were  driving  home  their  cattle  in  the 
road. 

VII. 

The  darkling  elms  were  leaning  o'er  her  gate, 
Like  keepers  of  some  ancient  secret  still !  - 
She  stood  beneath  them,  half  afraid  to  wait; 
Heard  lazy  bells  come  moping  from  the  hill, 
And  heard  the  witch-complaining  whip-poor- 
will. 

Ah!  did  she  dream!  the  glow- worm's  tiny  glare 
Was  in  the  dews!  she  felt  a  nameless  thrill, 
And  breath— warm  flushes  in  the  pulsing  air, 
'Mid  sweetest  scent  of  fields  and  gardens  blos- 
som'd  fair. 

VIII. 

Ah!  innocence  and  beauty!  at  thy  age, 
To  see  thee  slumb'ring  there  in  such  a  place,— 
A  lovely  dreamer  in  a  human  cage ! 
The  moon  entranced  is  looking  in  thy  face,  — 
On  thy  half-conscious  lips,  she  now  doth  trace 
The  quiv'rings  of  young  pleasure's  soft  delight; 
Such  as  zephyrus  wakes  as  she  doth  race 
With  tiniest  waves;  or  such  as  sunbeams  bright 
'Mid  wild'ring  toil  of  leaves  are  to  the  ravished 
sight! 

IX. 

Twasinta,  oh  Twasinta!  couldst  thou  see, 
Thro'  tears,  thou  now  wouldst  look  upon  thy 

child, 

As  here  she  innocently  dreams  of  thee! 
Her  shy  feet  press  thy  meadows  undefiled, 
'Mid  first-born  dews!    Her  heart  is  gay  and 

wild 

In  sweet  unconsciousness  of  what  impends,— 
She  hears  thy  lulling  boughs  and  voices  mild, 
As   o'er   her  native   flow'rs   once   more    she 

bends!  — 

But  where  the  spoiler  lurks,  how  soon  the  bliss- 
dream  ends! 


Of    creeping  things  there's  none  so  vile    or 

worse 

Than  man,  when  he  the  creature  of  his  lusts, 
Bred  in  the  kennel  of  Satanic  force, 
Is  woman's  lord.    Never  Brazilian  dusts 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


Were  marked  by  a  worse  adder's  slime!     He 

thrusts 

A  scorching  glare  that  burns  in  like  a  coal, 
And  fangs  the  writhing  life  that  vainly  trusts 
Her  charms  exposed  to  move  him  1     His  control 
Complete,  a  beast  he  gloats  extinguishing   the 

soul! 

XI. 

The  moving  of  an  iron  bolt  below, 
Harsh  thro*  the  corridor  grates  on  the  ear ! 
Light  footfalls  follow  cautiously  and  slow,  — 
Now  pausing  — dying  out  —  they  disappear, 
And  now  returning,  stealthily  more  near. 
Ewald  springs  softly  to  her  bolted  door, 
And  still  as  statue  leans  in  breathless  fear; 
Till,  pale  as  moonbeams  on  her  prison  floor, 
Her  young  cheeks  turn,  as  nearer  draw  the  steps 
once  more. 

XII. 

The  dusky  shadows  seem  to  glint  and  move  — 

The  ghostly  creatures  of  expectancy, 

Wont  mid  such  scenes  in  these  dark  halls  to 

rove, 

And  perch  around  and  gloat  mysteriously ! 
Yet  Ewald  leans  and  listens  tremblingly. 
But   now   what  pangs  1  — a  hurried  footstep 

lands 

Without  a  hasty  hand  thrusts  in  a  key,  — 
The  iron  yields !  a  man  before  her  stands  I  — 
She    darts   across  her  cell,  she   moans!    she 

wrings  her  hands ! 


XIII. 

He  follows  up, — at  each  approach  she  flies  — 
She     shrinks— she     mutters   and     entreating 

stares ! 

The  sullen  walls  drink  up  her  fruitless  cries, 
While  thus  enraged  the  monster  on  her  glares, 
And  with  brute  force  to  seize  his  prey  prepares  1 
One  pleading  look  to  heav'n  she  wildly  throws, 
And   sinks   upon   her   couch    still    mutt'ring 

prayers ; 

Then  like  a  flying  fury  at  him  goes, 
Flings  wide  her  prison  door  and  publishes  her 

woes! 

XIV. 

So  the  caged  bird  goes  struggling  from  the 

hand, 

To  beat  and  flutter  'gainst  her  wirery  dome ; 
And  'scapes  as  last,  to  leave  her  troubler  stand 


Astonished,  as  she  gains  her  woody  home ! 
How  Ewald  passed  the  night,  and  saved  by 

whom, 

No  one  may  tell,  but  she  was  saved  from  shame, 
And  when  my  patient  reader  shall  have  come 
To  ponder  well  a  vet'ran  leader's  name, 
He  may  remember  that  to  him  belongs  the  fame., 

XV. 

Still  on  misfortune  blindly  moves  her  train  I 
We  may  not  linger  here ;  the  time  draws  nighfc 
Twasinta's  wasted  homes  appeal  in  vain, 
Palmecho  sees  his  doom!    Ah!  must  he  die? 
The  lurid  morn  seems  waiting  in  the  sky, 
As  the  avenger's  mortal  work  proceeds  I 
Surely,  if  human  acts  are  .seen  on  high, 
The  bosom  of  angelic  nature  bleeds, 
As  yonder  hangman  to  the  death  his  victim 
leads! 

XVI. 

Lo!  where  Palmecho  stoops  within  the  gate, 
How  touching  is  his  tender  last  farewell ! 
His  child  from  him  they  cannot  separate, 
Tho'  ruthless  hands  provoke  the  purpose  fell  1 
A  daughter's  sweet  affection  who  can  tell? 
A  father's  benediction  how  sublime, 
When  on  his  lips  the  words  of  parting  dwell, 
And  he  is  pausing  on  the  brink  of  time, 
To  lift  his  eyes   towards   a   brighter,    holier 
clime  1 

XVII. 

Could  scenes  of  bloodshed  fill  the  eyes  of  death 
With  mischief  too  abhorrent,  —  could  the  pores 
Of  cruelty  ooze  drops,  or  his  hot  breath 
Grow  dull  and  bated  —  on  the  cypress  shores 
Where  Ewald  for  her  aged  sire  implores, 
A  cause  is  seen.    Lo !  where  yon  scaffold  stands 
Gloomy   above,    while    rock-watched   Tampa 

roars ! 
Clench'd   in  despair  behold  her  outstretched 

hands, 
Whilst  round  her  grimly  press  the  war-stained 

soldier-bands ! 


XVIII. 

Ah!  doomed  to  die  for  shedding  human  blood, 
He  who  has  never  caused  a  mortal  pain ! 
But  never  martyr's  faith  more  nobly  stood 
A  sacrifice  by  tyrant  madly  slain ! 
Never  did  resignation  less  complain ! 


TVVASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


Stern  looking  on  his  executioner. 

He  pities  him,  nor  hopes  to  pity  gain; 

When  'mid  the  throngs  he  hears  his  child  demur, 

And  turns  to  rest  a  parent's  loving  gaze  on  her! 

XIX. 

l{  Thou  last  hope  of  my  dotage,  oh!  my  child; 
Thou  one  green  branch  of  age's  withered  tree, 
I  see  thee  shiv'ring  in  the  tempest  wild, 
That  tears  thy  parent  trunk  away  from  thee ! 
Ah!  I  could  wish  thou  didst  not  mourn  for  me! 
Then  could  I  yearn  to  find  the  long,  long  sleep 
That  kisses  down  life's  damp  lids  tranquilly 
From   all   their   sorrows!    But    thy   courage 

keep  — 
The  end  may  come  at  last,  with  joy  for  those 

who  weep ! " 

XX. 

Ah !  there  was  Pathos  on  her  very  knees, 
And  chained  Endurance  pitying  his  child! 
E'en  Cruelty  red-handed's  ill  at  ease 
Where  beauty  pleads  so  tenderly  and  wild ; 
And  to  death's   stroke  old  age  stands  recon- 
ciled, 
"Spare!  spare  my  father !  won't  you! —won't 

you  —  spare!" 

The  daughter  cries  till  vengeance  is  beguiled 
From  wanton   haste,  and  seems  for   once  to 

care, 

And  hold  his  doubtful  breath  at  shrieks  of  wild 
despair ! 

XXI. 

"  My  father!  oh,  my  father!     Do  not  bring 
His  guiltless  hairs  dishonored  to  the  grave ! 
He  did  not  —  could  not  have  done  such  a  thing! 
He  never  wronged  a  soul!  —  he  never  gave 
A  child  offense !    Oh !  do  but  thist  I  crave  !  — 
Be  not  in  haste  a  good  man's  blood  to  shed  I 
Oh!  spare!  and  I  will  be  your  willing  slave 
Till  he  who  to  the  fatal  rescue  led 
Shall  show  that  by  Palmecho's  hand  no  soldier 
bled! 

XXII. 

A  brawny  guard  the  frantic  pleader  grasps, 
To  force  her  off, — she  breaks  away  and  flies 
Thro'  the  grim  throng,  towards   her  father  — 

clasps 

His  stooping  neck, —  upon  his  bosom  lies, 
And  looking  cold  in  her  assailant's  eyes, 
Half  hid  in  raven  clouds  of  falling  hair, — 


"  You  shall  not!  —  Oh!  you  shall  not!  shall  not!" 

cries. 

Ah!  what  a  stroke  for  tragic  art  was  there, — 
Grief  on  his  aged  breast  supporting  young  de- 
spair I 

XXIII. 

The  Spirits  of  the  wood  by  Tampa  seem 
To  sink  their  hidings  into  darker  shade. 
There  lingers  not  the  least  reluctant  beam 
Amid  the  gloom  that  doth  the  scene  pervade. 
The  scaffold  specter-like,  on  high  arrayed, 
Looks  down  in  grim  rebuke.     A  pause  ensues, 
A  moment  flies  —  another  still  delayed 
Brings  indecision, —  when  the  leaders  choose 
To  wait,  and  to  secure  Atlassa,  Ewald  use. 

XXIV. 

"  Return  them  to  their  cells!"  is  the  command; 
"  A  fortnight  hence  shall  be  the  time  allowed, 
And  if  Atlassa  come  not  with  his  band, 
Palmecho  hangs !    And  thus  this  Nation  vowed ! 
Ah!  could  such  be,  when  all  the  land  was  proud 
And  boastful  of  the  policy  of  war, 
That  swept  from  over  Florida  the  cloud 
That  brooded  in  destruction's  gloom  afar? 
Was  such  majestic  battle's  only  exemplar! 


XXV. 

Oh!  Florida!  how  fair  and  yet  how  frail, 
Thou  daughter  of  the  Sun  bereft  forlorn ! 
'Tis  sad  to  hear  thy  exiled  children's  wail, 
And  hear  thy  empty  fields  in  concert  mourn, 
While  Rapine  dwells  where  Peace  did  once  so- 
journ! 

'Tis  sad  that  Ewald  now  in  prison  pines. 
Ah!  it  were  better  to  have  ne'er  been  born  I 
And  there  is  still  a  hope  that  ne'er  resigns, 
And  woman's  heart  is  strong  when  faith  with 
courage  joins. 


XXVI. 

The  moon  was  low  on  Tampa's  quiet  wave, 
The  drowsy  camp  was  silent  on  the  hill, 
And  patient  earth  was  all  composure,  save, 
A  little  while  away,  a  night  bird  shrill 
Trilling  her  throat  was  heard,  when  all  was  still. 
A  sentinel  lone  standing  in  the  moon 
Was  all  that  might  be  seen  of  life,  until 
Beneath  the  prison  walls  there  did  commune 
Twasinta's  child  and  Abraham,  the  old  Maroon, 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


XXVII. 

Thus  spoke  the  eager  maid:  "  Oh!  Abraham, 
Be  thou  my  message-bearing  aDgel !     Fly ! 
Find  out  his  camp  I  —  inform  him  where  I  am  — 
Tell  him    his   friend   Palmecho's    doomed  to 

die,— 

Tell  him  to  come  in  haste,  the  time  is  nigh! 
He  is  a  warrior  and  a  wary  chief, 
And  keeps  his  guard,  but  tell  him,  somehow  I 
Am  anxious  that  he  watch!  —  be  not  too  brief  — 
For  harm  to  him  will  add  calamity  to  grief! 


XXVIII. 

"  Hint  that  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war 
Suggest  strong  body-guards  and  chosen  men, 
And  let  a  truce  flag,  waving  from  afar, 
Impose  a  friendly  aspect;  gathering  then 
His  warriors  well  about  him,  wait,  and  when 
The  garrison  comes  out,  be  it  declared 
Who  slew  the  guards  in  San  Augustine's  glen. 
Then  may  Palmecho's  life  to  me  be  spared, 
And   him    to    rescue  mankind  know    Atlassa 
dared!" 

XXIX. 

Now,  Abraham!  if  you  have  ever  loved 
A  child  — your  own  —  or  if  you  e'er  did  feel 
A  fount  of  sorrow  in  your  bosom  moved, 
Turn  not  your  ear  from  wildest  grief's  appeal! 
Earth's  last  support  to  woman's  trembling  weal 
Is  faith  in  man!  — then  covenant  with  me,— 
While  at  the    shrine  of  trust  my   soul  shall 

kneel, — 

Do  convenant  that  thou  wilt  faithful  be, 
And  woman's  prayers  in  heaven  shall  breathe  a 

word  for  thee ! 


XXX. 

The  brave  old  chief  of  peace  and  kindly  deeds 
Lifted  towards  the  moon  his  bronzed  brow, 
And  pond'ring  as  a  man  who  deeply  heeds, 
Uttered  his  answer  carefully  and  low ; 
"  Maiden,  the  stars  are  looking  at  me  now,— 
They  oft  have  seen  me,  thro'  the  long,  long 

past, 

Going  about  for  peace ;  and  they  will  glow 
As  many  witnesses,  that  to  the  last, 
The  feet  of  Abraham  for  good  were  ever  fast. 


XXXI. 

"  The  cypress  and  the  desert  pine  can  tell 
How  often  I  have  traveled  night  and  day, 
And  in  their  shades  what  perils  me  befell, 
From  savage  beasts  infesting  every  way, 
And  scouts  more  savage  that  around  me  lay ; 
That  I  should  falter  now,   'twould  seem   too 

late,— 

Trust  me!  is  all  that  Abraham  can  say!" 
Thus  ended,  Ewald  watched  him  from  the  gate, 
Till  lost  from  view  within  the   moon-lit  forests 

great. 

XXXII. 

Hail  Florida !  ye  palmy  forests  hail  I 

Hail  densest  pines  and  fields  of  endless  bloom  I 

'Twas  sweet,  I  ween,  in  Apalachi's  vale, 

To  wander  forth  in  the  deep  foliage  gloom, 

Where  the  wide  air  was  scarce  of  breathing 

room,— 

To  see  the  soft  bananas  drooping  thro', 
And  the  great  dusky  yellow  orange  loom 
Mid  languid  leaves :  Thus  as  the  aspect  grew 
From  change  to  change,  the  eye  did  fresh  de- 
lights pursue. 


XXXIII. 

'Twas  sweet  to  see  the  blossoms,  many-hued,. 
Flush  in  the  Summertide's  luxuriant  smile, 
Soft  shim'ring  in  the  sunlight,  half  subdued 
By  great  dense  boughs  of  green.    'Twas  sweet 

to  while 

The  hours  by  fenceless  paths  for  many   a  mile ; 
To  pause  'mid  the  great  shades  where  the  birds 

swung, 

And  follow  fancy's  pleased  eye  thro'  each  aisle, 
To  nymph  abodes,  the  leafy  haunts  among; 
Where  hues  had  speech  and  silence  found  a. 
joyous  tongue. 


XXXIV. 

Such  scenes  as  these,  the  exile's  pensive  eye 
Enjoyed  with  satisfaction  deep  and  true. 
The  Seminole  looked  proud  and  dreamily, 
Or  musing  walked,  with  scarcely  more  to  do. 
Surely  there  never  was  a  happier  view! 
From  town  to  town,  mid  groves  and  by  the  sea, 
To  Mickasukie  and  the  great  Wahoo ; 
The  joyous  scenes  of  Summer  wild  and  free, 
Lured  Care  to  rest  on  Pleasure's  lap  continually. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  or  FLORIDA. 


xxxv, 

Hark!   in  the  troubled  West  what  means  this 

roar? 

Like  forests  in  a  storm's  tremendous  glee, 
Or  like  the  waves  on  dread  Atlantic's  shore, 
It  rolls  and  breaks  around  Mickanopy ! 
Oh!  what  hath  roused  this  angry  human  sea? 
Why  howls  the  waste  in  such  unwonted  throes? 
What  rends  the  bosom  of  tranquillity? 
The  loud,  resistless  onset  of  fierce  foes, 
Startles  a  peaceful  land  and  breaks  its  deep  re- 
pose! 

XXXVI. 

Lo!  the  fierce  bands  from  distant  solitudes, 
And  hasty  scouts  from  Apalachi's  side  I 
The  mutt'ring  foe  is  threading  Tampa's  woods, 
With  savage  Creeks  and  loud-mouthed  hounds 

allied; 

Wide  o'er  the  land  his  mounted  patrols  ride, 
Thro'  hommocks  dark  and  forests  dense  they 

lead; 

While  burning  villages  afar  descried, 
Proclaim  the  bold  incendiary's  deed, 
And  make  the  heavens  lurid  where  the  hosts 

proceed  J 


XXXVII. 

This  is  the  conquest  of  the  flow'ry  land! 

He  who  has  earned  the  fame  of  many  wars  — J 

America's  chief  captain  in  command, 

Marshals  his  battle-hardened  regulars  I 

Proud  thro1  the  pine  woods  float  the  stripes  and 

stars, 

And  restive  steeds  toward  the  onset  neigh; 
While,  kindling  recollections  of  his  scars, 
In  his  green  haunts  no  longer  to  give  way, 
The  Seminole  looks  forth,  a  hunted  beast  at  bay ! 


XXXVIII. 

Ah !  'tis  the  dreadful  eve  of  battle  now  1 
The  low'ring  storm  of  nations  comes  apace; 
Deep  clouds  have  settled  on  Destruction's  brow, 
And  dismal  thunders  hem  Atlassa's  race  I 
Ah!  what  but  valor  stands  in  such  a  place? 
Wives,  children,  and  the  old,  all  mounted  wait 
To  fty  at  once,  while  in  each  warrior's  face 
The  inwrought  lines  of  deep  resentful  hate 
Betray  that  soon  resistance  will  be  desperate. 


XXXIX. 

The  threat'ning  storm  no  longer  holds  its  wrath, 
The  sanguine  troops  their  stubborn  foe  engage ; 
While  allied  Creeks  skulk  'round  in  every  path, 
Nefarious  flankings,  right  and  left  to  wage; 
Torturing  Desperation  into  rage, 
And  demon  yells  with  roar  of  muskets  blend : 
But,  rallying  fierce  upon  the  hommock's  edge, 
They  who  for  homes  and  liberty  contend, 
As  grim  as  Hate  receive  the  troops  and  on  them 
bend! 

XL. 

His  fearless  plume,  lo !  how  Atlassa  bears, 

For  deadly  aiming  guns  a  brilliant  mark ! 

The  erring  bullet  hisses  at  his  ears, 

But  heedless  still  he  walks  a  god ;  and  hark ! 

His  voice  is  clear!    Loud  o'er  the  battle  dark 

Its  tones  of  magic  urge  his  braves  to  fame 

And  deeds  of  daring!  and  the  latest  spark 

Of  ebbing  life  it  kindles  to  a  flame, 

As  each  expiring   warrior  gasps  his  leader's 

name! 

XLI. 

Ah!  ye  who  con  the  musty  tomes  of  eld, 
To  watch  the  fabled  scorpions  of  ire 
Kindle  the  fatal  wrath  that  mankind  held 
in  mortal  dread,  behold  this  chief  in  dire 
And  desp'rate  conflict,  build  a  deadlier  fire 
Around  the  rude  homes  of  his  tribal  braves ! 
Tortured,  the  angry  flames  cannot  expire, 
Each  warrior  like  a  fury  now  behaves,  — 
All  like  wild  beasts  hunt  death!    Ah!  can  such 

men  be  slaves? 


XLII. 

Furies  imprisoned  by  infernal  hate, 
Where  the  hot  irons  circumvex  their  pains, 
Surge  not  more  fierce  on  Torture's  brazen  gate, 
Nor  writhe  defiant  more  in  blist'ring  chains, 
When,  death  inducing  not   doth  stream  their 

veins; 

Than  surge  and  writhe  these  Seminoles  beneath 
The  hail  of  angry  lead  that  on  them  rains! 
From  tree  and  hommock  rushing  to  the  death, 
They  blanch  grim  slaughter's  cheeks  and  drink 

his  very  breath! 


XLIII. 

Flying  like  wing'd  madness  upon  what  they  seetn, 
They  hand  the  foe  within  the  dreadful  breach  I 
Fastening  him  like  torments  with  hungry  teeth' 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


31 


Till  lifeless  one  shall  sink,  and  sometimes  each, 
They  hew  down  all  within  the  tom'hawk's  reach! 
So  fly  infuriated  hornets  from  their  nests, 
Upon  assailants :    Thus  doth  valor  teach, 
When  roused  to  desperation's  potent  tests, 
That  "  Liberty  or  Death,"  is  one  of  God's  be- 
hests! 

XLIV. 

Fierce  Spirit  of  the  Seminole !  what  fate 
Can  tame  thy  warring  sons  upon  the  field! 
I  see  them  for  a  Nation's  strength  too  great  — 
Outnumbered  and  outarmed  they  will  not  yield! 
Till  by  the  darkness  they  are  well  concealed, 
They  hold  an  army  back  and  guard  their  dead ; 
Thus  shall  their  immortality  be  sealed, 
The  bravest  of  the  brave  to  victory  led, 
By  one  whose  plume  would  honor  e'en  a  Bruce's 
head! 

XLV. 

Down  to  the  end  of  time  be  it  proclaimed! 
Up  to  the  skies  of  fame  let  it  be  rung! 
Wherever  valor's  sacrifice  is  named, 
Whenever  plaudits  fire  the  human  tongue ; 
Or  by  sweet  strings  expressed,  or  mortals  sung, 
Let  it  go  forth,  and  let  mankind  attest, 
That,  Seminoles  and  exiles,  old  and  young, 
Upon  the  bosom  of  their  country  prest ; 
By  valiant  deeds  are  shrined  in  ev'ry  patriot 
breast! 

XLVI. 

Thro'  the  dead  desolation  of  the  past, 

The  eye  of  Freedom  searches  not  in  vain, 

For   her  surviving  shrines,  —  the    pomp    and 

blast 

Of  might  and  red  Dominion,  could  attain 
To  manacling  the  world's  limbs  and  its  brain; 
But  Freedom's  sons  must  dwell  unknown,  — 

apart  — 

Or  wander  hopeless,  in  Contempt's  sad  plain; 
Yet  ever,  and  anon,  some  giant  heart,  — 
Some   prince  of    thought,  a  revolution's  tide 

would  start. 

XLVII. 

Some  Bruce  or  Tell,  who  drank  the  mountain 

breath 

Of  Freedom,  and  arose  to  meet  her  morn; 
Some  Brown  or  Love  joy,  whose  contempt  of 

death, 
Was  of  the  sacred  love  of  Freedom  born,  — 


Whose  mentioned  dust  would  shame  the  lips  of 

scorn ! 

Some  Jefferson,  the  Knight  of  Justice  fair, 
Whose  thoughts  the  brow  of  ages  still  adorn ; 
And  whose  brave  lance  of  independence  rare, 
Could  thrust  base  Superstition  in  her  dragon 

lair! 

XLVIII. 

Or  some  Atlassa,  who  could  call  his  braves 

To  turfy  beds  of  glory  in  the  dell, 

Or  vict'ry  o'er  those  who  would  make  them 

slaves !  — 

But  for  such  men  the  wide  earth  were  a  hell, 
Where  vampire  priests  and  kingly  vultures  fell, 
Plucking  the  fleshless  bones  of  human  woe 
Would  perch  thro'  time !  and  in  the  waste  and 

spell 

Of  universal  carnage,  loud  or  low, 
The  owls  of  Superstition  would  forever  go. 


XLIX. 

The  enthusiasts'  torch  that  lit  their  beacon  firea 
From  Plymouth's  Sea  to  cold  Ontario's  coasts, 
Shone  farther  than  the  ken  of  Pilgrim  sires, 
In  their  brief  time  surveyed :     The  sturdy  hosts 
That  throated  Tyranny  and  scorned  his  boasts, 
Knew  not  that  on  this  continent  of  streams,  — 
Of  endless  summers  and  eternal  frosts  — 
'Mid  first-born  woods,  the  light  of  Freedom 

beams 
On    sovran    Nature's    lap,    inducing     patriot 

dreams ! 

L. 

They  saw,  but "  comprehended  not  the  light "  — 
Colonial  life  was  but  a  prophecy  — 
They  kindled  dimly  in  an  unknown  hight, 
But  could  no  more  —  and  paused  there  trust- 
ingly* 

Till  sons  explored  the  ages  then  to  be, 
And  while  in  silence  and  eternal  dust 
They  sleep  beneath  the  standard  they  left  free, 
A  proud  Kepublic  —  their  pathetic  trust  — 
Fraternal  hands  embellish,  and  forever  must! 


LI. 

And  tho'  'tis  sad,  in  truth  it  must  be  said, 
They  died  for  Freedom  and  for  slavery  too ! 
How  noble  and  ignoble  are  our  dead, 
How  recreant  to  right,  and  yet  how  true ! 
But  o'er  a  century's  historic  view, 


32 


TWASINTA  S    SEMINOLES;    OK,    RAPE    OF   FLORIDA. 


The  valiant  Seminole  we  proudly  see ; 

He  died  for  Freedom;  and  the  trembling  few 

Who  fled  to  Florida  his  wards  to  be, 

He  elevated  into  freemen's  dignity! 


LII. 

He  could  not  be  enslaved  —  would  not  enslave 
The  meanest  exile  that  his  friendship  sued, 
Brave  for  himself ,  defending  others  brave, — 
The  matchless  hero  of  his  time  he  stood, 
His  noble  heart  with  freedom's  love  imbued, 
The  strong  apostle  of  Humanity  J 
'Mid  forests  wild  and  habitations  rude, 
He  made  his  bed  of  glory  by  the  sea ; 
The  friend  of  Florida  and  man,  there  let  him  be  I 

LIII. 

Upon  the  proud  front  let  Atlassa  stand, 

Night  in  the  everglades  is  friendly  now. 

The  foe  retires  and  darkness  is  at  hand, 

And  seems  to  listen  to  the  voices  low 

Of  warriors  round  their  chief,  whose  valiant 

brow 

Is  heavy  with  the  horrors  of  the  day  I 
Upon  the  turf  the  wounded  in  a  row, 
Painful  but  silent,  for  attention  lay, — 
The  dead  to  Apalachi's  shores  are  borne  away. 

LIV. 

The  war  is  ended,  let  the  victor  rest! 
His  brave  blood  seals  the  title  of  his  fame. 
His  fair  land  deems  him  worthy  of  her  breast, 
Historic  truth  embalms  his  warlike  name, 
While  hero  temples  well  admit  his  claim  I 
And  when  the  epic  muse  shall  cast  around, 
A  theme  to  kindle  valor  into  flame, 
Where  Florida's  soft  palms  shade  many  a  mound, 
By  Mickasukie  and  the  sea,  will  e'er  be  found. 

LV. 

Oh!  inexorable,  oh!  righteous  Time, 

Thy  mist-dispersing  light  o'er  us  roll  on! 

Let  thy  just  beams  invest  the  Sunny  Clime, 

And  bring  the  truth  up  from  the  ages  gone  I 

Oh!  we  are  happy  as  we  stand  upon 

The  summit  of  a  century,  and  view 

How  hist'ry  pales  where  thy  broad  beams  have 

shone ! 

Thou  dread  revealer  of  the  old  and  new, 
Inevitable  are  thy  judgments,  just  and  true ! 


CANTO  IV. 
I. 

Gazing  away  upon  the  toiling  seas, 
In  gloomy  rows  the  silent  captives  sate ; 
And  as  the  ship  rode  off  before  the  breeze, 
They  murmured  not,  though  all  disconsolate ; 
But  mournful  seemed,  and  joined  to  meditate,  - 
Each  other  to  regard  with  patient  sighs, 
And  gather  courage  up  to  hope  and  wait; 
Still  looking  back,  with  sad  reluctant  eyes, 
To  bid  a  last  adieu  to  Florida's  blue  skies! 


II. 

Those  who  had  counseled  Tampa's  sons  of  old, 
Now  lift  their  drooping  faces  from  their  hands ; 
And  those  who  had  done  battle  stern  and  bold,  — 
Fierce  sons  of  Seminole  and  exile  bands,  — 
Look  up  as  in  their  midst  Atlassa  stands. 
Shorewards  his  arms  in  heavy  irons  stretch, 
And  while  his  mien  a  silence  deep  commands, 
His  fiery  glance  inspires  the  veriest  wretch, 
For  all  well  know  that  he's  for  mortal  foe  a 
match ! 

III. 

Full  well  they  know  the  perfidy  and  guile 
By  which  at  Tampa  they  in  chains  were  held. 
The  insult  to  a  flag  of  truce  so  vile, 
Astounded  all  and  in  each  bosom  swelled, 
A  bitter  mute  despondency.    Compelled 
To  charge  themselves  with  lack  of  wariness, 
They  felt  that  they  from  homes  were  self-ex- 
pelled; 

So  sighs  alone  their  feelings  could  express, 
As  their  attentive  ear  drank  down  their  chief's 
address. 

IV. 

" My  native  Florida!  adieu!  adieu! 
I'm  looking  at  the  last  pine  on  thy  shore  I 
Soon  other  climes  must  come  upon  my  view, 
And  thy  sweet  landscapes  meet  mine  eyes  no 

more ! 

Oh!  Florida!  hear  now  thy  son  implore! 
In  thy  fair  bosom  still  remember  me ; 
And  while  the  billows  shall  between  us  roar, 
Or  thy  smooth  sands  shall  hear  a  lisping  sea, 
Let  these  my  latest  vows  revive  and  dwell  in 

thee! 

V. 

"  I  go  in  chains  but  not  a  pining  slave; 
Injured  but  conquered  not  I  still  go  free ! 
And  yet,  ye  seats  by  Mickasukie's  wave, 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OK,  RAPE  or  FLORIDA. 


33 


How  sad  it  is  that  I  must  thus  leave  thee ! 
'Twas  in  thy  shades  I  hoped  my  grave  might  be. 
When  Peace  had  come  to  spread  her  happy  reign, 
Where  sleep  the  prophet-sires  of  liberty, 
I  proudly  deemed  that  comrades  should  have  lain 
My  weary  dust  in  rest  unbroken  to  remain! 

VI. 

"Ye  pines  whose  whispers  lulled  your  child  to 

rest, 
And  whose  hoarse  anthems  nerved  him  in  the 

fray, 

How  slept  thy  shades  on  Mickasukie's  breast, 
How  crept  they  from  the  threshold  of  the  day  1 — 
From  such  sweet  scenes  I'll  soon  be  far  away! 
And  Apalachi,  parted  now  from  me, 
No  words  can  utter  what  my  heart  would  say! — 
But  while  thy  pining  shores  no  more  I  see, 
In  his  far  home,  Atlassa  still  will  think  of  thee  I" 

VII. 

The  chieftain  speaks  no  more  but  still  doth 

gaze 

Till  Florida  is  gone  and  all  is  sea. 
With  every  canvas  breathing,  sailors  raise 
Their  outward  shouts  and  sing  right  merrily 
To  the  dark  ware's  responsive  melody: 
But  hark!  what  groans  now  fill  the  heedless 

wind! 

The  captive  can  his  home  no  longer  see ; 
So  sinks  in  unsupported  grief  the  mind, 
When  exiles  dragged  away  must  leave  their 

homes  behind! 

vm. 

Atlassa  sees  those  who,  whilom  could  look 
Upon  him  with  a  hope  of  sure  redress; 
And  feelings  that  even  his  heart  cannot  brook. 
Damp  his  averted  eyes,  and  thoughts  that  press 
Like  flame  he  feels  and  cannot  half  express. 
There  are  his  comrades  in  long  bloody  wars ; 
Their  lips  are  still — their  looks  speak  none  the 

less, — 
Their  maimed  limbs,  and  their  faces  deep  with 

scars, 
Are  the  dumb  eloquence  which  tells  the  wrong 

that  mars. 

IX. 

There  is  a  time  when  speech  Is  all  too  frail, 
There  is  a  place  where  silence  speaks  the  most: 
What  is  the  word  to  paint  a  human  wail, 
Or  how  heroic  speak  where  all  is  lost! 


He  who  wears  shackles  'mid  his  shackled  host, 
Shows  valor's  steel  to  sturdily  behave, 
For  life  is  Freedom's  last  and  real  cost, 
And  so,  the  last  resistance  of  the  brave, 
Is  that  stern  silence  which  to  chains  prefers 
grave. 

X. 

Full  well  the  patient  exile  knows  his  chief,. 
Full  well  the  Seminole  regards  his  mien; 
For  to  look  on  him  is  a  strange  relief 
To  those  who  with  him,  other  times  have  seen, 
Ah!  they  remember  well  what  he  hath  been, — 
How  readily  he  sprang  to  meet  the  foe ! 
Bearing  misfortunes  manfully  serene, 
They  see  him  now,  and  trust  that  he  may  know 
The  way   of  their  deliv'rance  and  direct  the 
blow. 

XI. 

Still  sing  the  sailors  'mid  their  masts  and  spars, 
All  heedless  of  a  captive's  sighs  aboard! 
In  truth  'tis  a  good  time  for  jolly  tars  — 
The  heaving  canvas  hastens  them  toward 
Their  haven,  and  sea-omens  good  afford 
Continuous  presages  of  a  fair  sail; 
While  sportive  fancy  kens  ahead  to  hoard 
The  dance  and  sparkling  draught    that  shall 

regale, 
When  they  the  Crescent  City's  busy  port  shall 

hail 

XII. 

How  near  may  men  be,  yet  how  far  apart, 
If  what  lies  all  unuttered  were  but  told  1 
How  changed  is  all  the  province  of  the  heart, 
When  different  men  the  selfsame  sights  behold ! 
To  one  the  skies  may  glow  in  dusts  of  gold, 
Sprinkled  by  hands  of  promise,  while  the  same 
To  others  like  the  book  of  Doom  unrolled, 
May  doleful  seem, —  tinged  with  the  lurid  flame 
That  lights  the  ruins  and  gloom  of  mishaps 
dread  to  name. 

XIII. 

Atlassa  leans,  stern  looking  on  his  chains, 
All  else  unheeding  till  a  touch  he  feels, — 
Before  him  stands  the  soldier-porting  Games, 
His  lifted  hat  the  veteran-brow  reveals. 
With  wars  acquainted  nought  his  mien  conceals; 
Meeting  the  chief  as  brave  men  meet  the  brave* 
A  glance  of  mutual  admiration  seals 
The  friendliness  with  which  they  each  behave: 
"Unbind  him,"  thunders  he,  "Atlassa  is  no 
slave!" 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


XIV. 

"I've  thrown  away  my  rifle,"  cries  the  chief, 
"I  hold  a  brave  hand,  we  shall  now  be  friends!" 
The  soldier  answers  and  his  words  were  brief;— 
"  Only  in  battle  foes,  in  peace  strife  ends. 
In  arms,  your  conduct  to  mankind  commends 
You  as  a  warrior,  honorable  —  true. 
And  now  the  General  in  command  extends 
The  hand  of  high  fraternity  to  you,— 
Believe  me  sir,  and  this  with  heartfelt  pride 
I  do." 

XV. 

Straightening  to  all  his  hight,  the  vet'ran  Gaines, 
With  martial  pride  investing  his  high  brow, 
The  signal  gives, —  a  band  discoursing  strains 
Enlivening  starts — and  expectancy  now 
Stands  tiptoe.    Seaman  at  the  stern  and  prow> 
And  high  amid  the  rigging  hush  and  wait  I  — 
Falmecho  is  unchained  and  from  below, 
Totters  up  in  a  poor  unsteady  gait— 
The  pathos  of  an  old  man  borne  by  sorrow's 
weight! 

XVI. 

There  was  a  hush  upon  the  swelling  wave, 
The  spirit  of  the  waters  seemed  to  be 
A  silent  noticer.    The  full  sails  gave 
A  flutter  short  and  listened  breathlessly; 
The  mews  came  nearer  from  the  open  sea, 
And  over  all  there  was  a  deep'ning  spell, 
Till  trumpets  flourished  loud  and  suddenly, 
And  then  sweet  strains  again  commenced  to 

swell, 
When  Ewald  sprang  and    on   her   chieftain's 

bosom  fell. 

XVII. 

Ewald  the  princess  of  the  sunny  isle, 

Ewald  the  idol  of  Twasinta's  vale,  — 

The  fascinating  beauty,  who  erewhile 

A  captive  pined,  in  long  suspense  grown  pale, — 

Not  now  less  beautiful  but  much  more  frail, 

Her  dark  unconquered  eyes  still  claim  their 

reign, 

Lovely  in  triumph!  no  weak  sob  or  wail 
Escape  her  lips,  or  word  unmeet  and  vain; 
She  simply  looks  a  queen,  restored  to  realms 

again ! 

XVIII. 

The  dark  wave  smiled  the  sails  flapped  swifter 

on, 
The  mews  were  off  about  the  sea  intent; 


And  e'en  the  vet'ran  Gaines  was  up  and  gone, 
When  o'er  Ewald  the  silent  chieftain  leant ; 
Too  well  he  knew  what  such  reunions  meant! 
Ah!  who  could  rudely  linger  on  the  scene, 
When  arms  reluctant  pressed  by  love  consent, 
And  lips  like  rose-buds  with  their  dews  between* 
Their  dainty  sweets  yield  to  the  touch?  It  would 
have  been 

XIX. 

A  sacrilege  polluting  e'en  the  sea! 
Not  Jonah's  disobedience  could  have  stirred 
The  Ocean  gods  to  wrath  more  suddenly. 
This  scene  in  Neptune's  realms  was  in  a  word, 
A  part  in  Bliss  Begained  by  him  preferred 
Before  the  patrons  of  the  wave,  to  show 
That  e'en  love's  whispers  in  the  deep  are  heard  — 
That  her  entrancings  charm  the  tides  that  flow, 
And  please  the  pow'rs  that  reign    invincibly 
below. 

XX. 

Ye  who  are  scornful  of  an  injured  race,  — 
Who  boast  thy  fellow  mortal  to  despise, 
Look  now  on  war-worn  Gaines1  valiant  face, 
Look  in  the  glorious  old  commander's  eyes, 
Gaze  as  on  Ewald's  neck  his  proud  hand  lies, 
See  how  her  sweet  hand  nestles  there  in  his; 
Now  with  coy  glances,  see  she  deftly  tries 
And  wins  the  admiring  smile  which  ever  gi'es 
Woman  a  pleasure  true  and  man's  best  treas- 
ure is. 

XXI. 

Now  ask  the  vet'ran  —  but  his  fiery  eye 

Is  on  you!  Look!    Draw  near!    Stand  in  its 

blaze 
And  let  it  scorch !—  Approach  him — there !  ask 

"Why, 

Our  leader,  why  Sir,  bring  us  the  disgrace 
Which  must  attach  to  fawning  Ewald's  race?" 
Imagine  that  he  answers ! — hold !  now  go, 
Make  haste  forsooth!  hide  thy  repugnant  face 
Till  thou  art  cured!  and  after  this  be  slow 
To  stretch  thy  curious  neck  life's  nobler  springs 

to  know. 

XXII. 

But  we  must  hasten  to  a  foreign  shore,  — 
To  ancient  Santa  Rosa  lift  thine  eyes ; 
There  the  worn  exiles,  free  at  last,  explore 
The  plain  that  by  no  slave  polluted  lies 
Beneath  the  peaceful  blue  of  Mexic's  skies; 
There  may  they  taste  their  freedom  so  well  won, 


"Come  now,  my  love,  the  moon  is  on  the  lake; 

Upon  the  waters  is  my  light  canoe ; 

Come  with  me,  love,  and  gladsome  oars  shall  make 

A  music  on  the  parting  wave  for  you, — 

Come  o'er  the  waters  deep  and  dark  and  blue; 

Come  where  the  lilies  in  the  marge  have  sprung, 

Come  with  me,  love,  for  oh,  my  love  is  true!" 

This  is  the  song  that  on  the  lake  was  sung, 

The  boatman  sang  it  over  when  his  heart  was  young. 

Twasinta's  Seminoles;  or,  Rape  of  Florida,  —  Page  12,  Stanza  xxxiii. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


35 


Surrounded  by  their  happy  families ; 
There  may  rejoice  to  find  their  struggles  done, 
And   Plenty's   benedictions   close    what  wars 
begun. 

XXIII. 

Where  the  wild  cactus  lifts  Its  thorny  stem, 
And  sleepily  endures  the  day-long  heat, 
A  free  and  fruitful  clime  inviteth  them 
To  rest  their  whilom  weary  wandering  feet. 
Oh!  how  inspiriting  the  prospect  sweet 
That  now  expands  upon  the  open  gaze ! 
Above  them  yet  their  tropic  branches  meet, 
The  fruit  boughs  hang  in  luscious  golden  maze, 
And  winds  are  burdened  with  their  native  wood- 
land lays. 

XXIV. 

Here  the  clear  stream  holds  in  its  peaceful  brim 
Such  quiet  shadows  as  to  them  recall 
The  scenes  of  Mickasukie's  forests  dim; 
And,  mindful  still  of  what  did  them  befall, 
Though  not  cast  down,  they  rise  up  after  all, 
And  here  commence  the  dream  of  life  again. 
Soon  cheerful  hearths  unite  their  families  small, 
The  husbandman  leads  up  his  joyous  train, 
And  pleasant  farms  extend  wide  o'er  the  vocal 
plain. 

XXV. 

There  stands  Atlassa  'mid  his  hopeful  few, 
The  future  contemplates  and  looks  before. 
The  battle  storm  that  erst  around  him  drew 
Them  to  defend  their  wasted  land  is  o'er. 
And  now  lamenting  not  his  native  shore, 
He  rises  still  as  one  born  to  command, 
And  challenge  comrade's   courage  tried  once 

more. 

He  waves  the  signal  of  his  gifted  hand, 
And  valiantly  they  go  to  subjugate  the  land. 


XXVI. 

He  led  them  forth  of  old,  they  knew  not  where, 
He  followed  with  them  o'er  the  mournful  wave ; 
They  haltered  in  the  wilderness,  and  there 
The  human  hunter  waited  to  enslave,  — 
He  stepped  to  front  again  their  leader  brave, 
And  when  the  foe  came  on  with  haughty  stride, 
A  death  blow  to  his  insolence  he  gave : 
Then  came  the  weary  march,  thro*  forests  wide, 
Till  they  were  safe  beyond  the  Bio  Grande's 
tide. 


XXVII. 

There,  mourning  not,  they  toil  and  hope  again,  — 
They  look  not  back,  their  sodden  cheeks  are  dry ; 
And  yet,  I  ween  there  is  an  inward  pain 
To  those  whose  kindred  all  unnoticed  lie 
Beneath  the  sad  sun  of  a  foreign  sky. 
The  South  wind  whispers  to  them  o'er  the  wave, 
And  dampness  is  perhaps,  come  in  some's  eye 
Who  thinks  of  a  dear  well-remembered  grave; 
But  all  to  mourn  are  too  long  suffering  and  too 
brave. 

XXVIII. 

Since  he  who  looks  upon  a  glorious  day 
Expiring  on  the  threshold  of  the  West, 
Must  breathe  a  thoughtful  wish  to  be  away; 
And  feel  within  him  dying  unexprest 
The  seer-voiced  longings  of  the  heart's  unrest; 
May  we  not  trust  that  in  the  evermore, 
A  friendlier  clime  awaits  the  pensive  breast; 
May  we  not  hope  to  reach  a  farther  shore, 
And  catch  the  billows  listing  where  they  cease 
to  roar? 

XXIX. 

Oh !  must  it  ever  come  that  earth  shall  be 
A  sable  field  of  barrenness?    A  waste 
Of  hollow  sounds?    Must  fruitless  nature  see 
Her  seasons  end  ?   And  sunless  days  —  the  last  — 
Roll  sightless  on  mid  desolations  vast? 
Must  Time  in  silence  view  her  broken  urn, 
Or  sit  to  brood  upon  an  empty  Past? 
Bereft  of  years,  must  she  a  widow  mourn, 
And  to  her  childless  breast  will  joy  no  more 
return? 

XXX. 

And  since  there  is,  as  hope  is  prone  to  sing, 
A  "  Happy  Land,"  why  say  "  far  far  away?  " 
May  not  the  restful  soul  be  lingering 
Still  near  its  mansion  of  deserted  clay? 
The  unembodied  spirit,  why  not  say, 
By  matter  all  unhindered  is  at  home ; 
Whether  delighted  round  the  earth  to  stray, 
Or  in  a  farther  universe  to  roam,  — • 
A  guest  of  future  worlds,  —  then  back  at  times 
to  come ! 

XXXI. 

If  conscious  life  about  the  earth  might  stroll, 
A  child  of  Reason  still,  it  then  were  sweet 
To  think  on  a  Republic  of  the  soul  — 
Community  of  spirits  —  where  lives  meet 


36 


TWA8INTA  S    SEMINOLE8 ;    OR,    BAPE   OF   FLORIDA, 


To  walk  the  earth  they've  known,  with  joyous 

feet, 

Unharrowed  by  abysmal  thoughts  of  Death; 
Reason  would  then  hold  her  delightful  seat, 
And  tho*  what's  mortal,  but  a  mist,  a  breath, 
Were    passed   away,  life   still  would   be   her 

«  shibboleth." 

XXXII. 

'Twere  sweet  to  live,  if  cherishing  the  trust 
That  life  itself  doth  from  the  flesh-life  spring,  — 
That  what  survives  affection's  tender  dust 
Is  this  existence,  only  brightening 
With  azure  grace  and  an  immortal  wing! 
Then  might  we  hope  to  feel  as  we  have  felt, 
And  know  the  subtle  shadow  wavering 
Between  the  where  we  may  dwell  and  have  dwelt; 
Then  might  we  realize,  that  not  in  rain  we've 
knelt. 

XXXIII. 

If  then,  this  be,  how  sweet  the  pleasing  dream,  — 
When  life  had  filled  its  shadow  and  its  shine,  — 
That  led  the  savage  by  his  dark-wood  stream, 
To  seek  a  heaven  beneath  his  leafy  shrine! 
In  pathos  sweet  and  tenderness  divine, 
This  solace  for  the  poorest  heart  it  pleads : 
When  this  life  o'er  her  empty  urn  shall  pine, 
She  sit  to  mourn  not  in  eternal  weeds; 
But,  pass  the  shade  into  the  shine  that  there 
succeeds. 

xxxrv. 

Those  who  have  labored  up  dogmatic  Elancs 
To  freeze  on  horrid  crags,  or  dash  below 
Into  some  mangling  chasm  did  leave  the  banks 
And  shades  of  safety  in  the  plain,  to  know, 
Only  too  late,  that  such  hights  can  but  show 
Distances  too  sublime  by  far  to  reach,  — 
Only  too  late,  that  tend'rest  comforts  grow 
Where  love's  sweet  whispers  cluster  round,  to 

teach 
The  dear  humanity  that  they  disdained  to  preach. 


XXXV. 

Who  can  ascend  against  Thy  awful  brow, 
Omnipotence!    About  Thee  Thou  dost  gird 
The  elements  I    Thine  avalanches  flow 
Down  the  incomputable  years!  and  heard 
Eternally  comes  forth  Thy  Sovran  Word, 
To  warn  man  back!    Thy  presence  who  can 
bear? 


Even  of  old  in  mountains  tbou  appeared, 
And  from  thine  upper  world  man  Thee  did  bear, 
And  quake  to  stand  in  clouds  of  an  unmort&l 
fear! 

XXXVI. 

Thou  warnest  me  the  mortal  task  to  shun, 
Of  tempting  thy  dread  paths  above  to  find. 
Stern,  silent,  incomprehensible  One ! 
Thou  risest  boundlessly  above  the  mind! 
But  here  below  thou  hast  for  love  entwined 
An  altar  with  the  leaf  of  life,  and  bloom, 
Round  which,  pathetic  human  tendrils  bind 
The  off'rings  of  our  hands.    May  its  perfume 
Exhale  in  all  the  earth,  as  freedom's  fires  con- 
sume! 

XXXVII. 

But  we  have  wandered:    If  the  Seminole 
May  ever  reach  again  his  native  shore, 
How  sweet  to  think  of  his  unhindered  soul 
Revisiting  the  scenes  he  loved  before  I 
But  if  the  hope  offend  we  say  no  more: 
We  leave  him  in  his  Mexic  home  at  rest, 
And  still  may  dream  that  he  shall  yet  pass  o'er 
The  dimpling  waves  of  Mickasukie's  breast, 
Yet  press  the  flow'ry  brinks,  that  he  before  has 
prest! 

XXXVIII. 

The  exiles  came  unto  an  ancient  well,  — 
Atlassa  sat  and  Ewald  by  him  stood, 
While  golden  glories  of  the  sunset,  fell 
Like  dreams  of  heav'n  on  Santa  Rosa's  wood, 
A  shim'ring  silence  filled  the  solitude. 
There  was   no   time   for   speech.     Palmecbo 

moaned 

For  joy,  and  wept,  and  their  responses  rude, 
With  feelings  deep  and  weirdly  undertoned, 
The  warriors  gave,  still  gazing  on  the  earth 

peace-zoned. 


XXXIX. 

Oh!  God!  in  all  Thy  glorious  works,  Thy  praise 
Is  mightiest  mid  the  hosts  of  Liberty! 
She  leads  mankind  in  devious  unknown  ways, 
And  sounds  her  timbrels  o'er  a  conquered  sea, 
While  vocal  mountains  catch  the  rising  gleel 
And,  where  afar  her  patient  children  roam, 
The  desert  wakes  to  join  their  jubilee! 
They  pass  or  rest,  despising  what  may  come; 
Only  to  dwell  with  thee,  the  wide  world  is  their 
home. 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


37 


XL. 


Hail  I  home  of  exiles  and  of  Seminoles ! 
Hail !  Mexico,  tliou  weak  but  goodly  land ! 
The  Day  of  Freedom  onward  grandly  rolls, 
And  thou  shalt  yet  receive  the  greeting  hand 
Of  her,  who  once  did  like  a  vulture  stand, 
To  gorge  upon  thy  sons  by  slave  power  slain! 
The  world's  respect,  ere  long  thou  shalt  com- 
mand; 

And  when  the  hosts  of  Freedom  come  amain; 
Tky  sons  shall  join  their  shouts  ascending  from 
the  plain! 

XLI. 

Those  who  once  came  upon  thee  with  the  sword, 
Are  coming  now  with  pruning  hooks  and  plows ; 
And  plains,  once  trampled  by  the  spoiler's  horde, 
Are  green  with  fields,  and  sweet  with  fruitful 

boughs. 

Awake  thou  ebon  maid!  awake!  arouse! ! 
Throw  wide  thy  gates!   unlock  thy  treasures 

now! 

The  proud  cause  of  humanity  espouse ; 
And  from  thy  miser-clutching  hills  shall  flow 
The  wealth  that  yet  must  glitter  on  thy  sunny 

brow! 

XLII. 

Rise  from  thy  ancient  mounds !  cells  of  the  dead, 

Of  whom  e'en  Legend  recollects  no  tale ; 

Presumption  only,  sees  the  life  they  led 

In  squalid  hut,  and  still,  unplanted  dale: 

And  even  she  is  sad  to  lift  the  veil! 

Oh!  what  must   they   have  been!    Oh!  how 

expire 

And  on  the  ears  of  Time  leave  not  a  wail? 
In  all  the  past,  there  smokes  no  altar  flre  — 
To  what  renown  could  such  a  stupid  race  aspire  1 


XLIVr. 

We  leave  thee  with  thy  guests,  thou  sunny  maid! 
The  daughter  of  Twasinta  dwells  with  thee ; 
The  chief  of  Tampa  and  the  everglade 
Is  with  her,  and  will  strive  to  keep  thee  free. 
Rise  thou  into  a  nation's  dignity, 
And  freedom's  acclamations  spread  around ! 
As  Rio  Grande  rolls  down  to  the  sea, 
Let  the  omnific  waters  catch  the  sound, 
"A  queen  of  beauty  in   the  West   is    Mexic 
crowned!" 


XLV. 

Farewell,  thy  guests!    The  light  is  almost  gone 

That  kindled  for  them  in  the  everglades ! 

In  all  our  shores  the  day  of  slavery's  done. 

'Midst  the  wild  freedom  of  our  mighty  shades, 

Now,  every  man  whose  soul  the  hope  pervades 

Of  life,  and  liberty,  and  happiness, 

May  join  with  Sovran  Labor's  plows  and  spades, 

And  jocund  axes  in  the  wilderness, 

To  dig  and  hew  away  primeval  want's  fortress. 


XLVI. 

Who  finds  this  country  now,  exulting  finds 
That  nature  sounds  the  anthems  of  the  free,  — 
The  boundless  prairie  swept  by  restless  winds, 
Great  forests  shouting  on  tumultuously, 
Rivers  that  send  their  greetings  to  the  sea, 
Peace-loving  vales,  where  mead-rimmed  waters 

run, 
Broad  lakes,  whose  shade-fringed  margins  lisp 

their  glee, 
Mountains,  that  prop  their  green  heights  in  the 

sun, 
And  herded  slopes  that  winter  never  looks  upon  I 


XLIII. 

And  yet  may  lowly  joys  have  there  been  born, 
Rude  tho*  the  scenes  'mid  which  her  patrons  met. 
The  sheep  boy's  carol  and  the  mountain  horn, 
And  merry  note  of  pipe  or  flageolet, 
May  well  be  deemed  the  things  we  can't  forget; 
And  these  may  there  have  soothed  the  rustic's 

ear, 

Still,  still  it  comes,  unceasing  with  regret, 
That  there  remains  no  lingering  mark  of  cheer  — 
That  not  a  solitary  annal  doth  appear. 


XLVII. 

Priestcraft  and  Tyranny  must  not  unchain 
The  mind  and  limb  of  man  and  send  him  here; 
Or  they  will  never  see  their  dupe  again, 
So  soon  'mong  freemen  will  he  disappear. 
The  sights  to  make  him  free  are  everywhere: 
He  cannot  see  the  farmer  tilling  corn, 
And  whistling  at  his  plow,  as  blithe  and  clear 
As  lark  or  linnet  in  the  dew-sprent  morn, 
And  not  feel  freedom's  wishes  in  him  being 
born. 


38 


TWASINTA'S  SEMINOLES  ;  OR,  RAPE  OF  FLORIDA. 


XL  VIII. 

He  can  not  wander  in  our  roads,  or  stay 
Beneath  our  shades  unmoved  by  what  he  sees,  — 
The  full  ripe  orchard  by  his  dusty  way, 
Busy  with  children  and  alive  with  bees; 
The  cool  spring  underneath  the  green  oak  trees ; 
The  cider  mill  a  going  merrily, 
And  farmer  looking  on  in  his  brown  ease,  — 
He  cannot,  seeing  these,  but  long  to  be 
A  sovereign  gathering  gold  crowns  from  the 
appletree. 

XLIX. 

This  is  a  land  of  free  limb  and  free  thought  — 
Freedom  for  all,  home-keeping  or  abroad,  — 
Here  man  is  all  unhindered,  as  he  ought, 
Dreading  no  priest's  rebuke,  no  despot's  nod, 
In  high  respect  of  Right,  the  friend  of  God ! 
Sole  sovereign  of  himself,  by  nature  throned, 
Planting  his  titles  in  the  royal  sod? 
He  spreads  his  reign  where  labor's  might  is 

owned, 
And  harvests  revenues  for  which  no  subject 

groaned. 


The  veriest  serf,  whose  shiv'ring  manhood  hears 
Niagara's  astounding  waters  fall, 
Must,  find  that  awe  of  man  there  disappears 
In  mists  of  infinite  spray :    He  cannot  call 
His  monarch's  name  and  feel  its  spell  and  thrall  • 
For  human  might  is  swept  off  in  the  gaze 
And  awe  of  One  Sublime  Stupendous  All! 
And  nought  survives  except  the  soul  to  raise 
To  one  Great  God  a  whisper  of  deep,  sincere 
praise ! 

LI. 

Thus  ends  my  lay :    Reluctantly  I  leave 
Atlassa  and  his  sweet-eyed  Southern  maid; 
Palmecho,  too,  with  whom  I  much  did  grieve, 
I  turn  from  sadly!    Could  they  but  have  stayed 
Beneath  their  "vines  and  fig  trees,'*  not  afraid! 
Yet  by  their  Santa  Rosa  let  them  dwell, 
Rejoicing  in  their  freedom  long  delayed  I 
And  while  my  heart's  untrained  emotions  swell, 
Once  more  I  turn  to  gaze  and  sigh:  farewell! 
farewell! 


NOT    A    MAN, 


AND 


YET    A     MAN 


ALBERRY    A.    WHITMAN. 


SECOND  EDITION,  CAREFULLY  REVISED. 


ST.  LOUIS: 

NIXON- JONES  PRINTING  CO. 
1890. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1877,  bjr 

A.  A.  WHITMAN, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


(40) 


DEDICATION. 


TO   BISHOP   BENJAMIN   W.  ARNETT,  D.  D.,  FRIEND    OF    MY   EARLY   STRUGGLES, 

A  GREAT  ADMIRER  OF  RODNEY,  THE  CHIEF  CHARACTER  OF 
THESE  LINES;  AND  A  LEARNED  AND  EMINENT 

REPRESENTATIVE      OF    HIS    RACE,     THIS 

YOLUME    IS  AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED    BY 

THE   AUTHOR. 


NOT  A  MAN,  AND  YET  A  MAN. 


CANTO  I. 

SAVILLE. 

Sing  muse !  of  Saville  and  the  direful  day 
When  beauty  fell  to  ruthless  bauds  a  prey; 
And  life  a  sacrifice  to  savage  hate, 
Smoked  on  the  altar  of  an  infant  State. 
The  pensive  woodlands  in  their  saddest  wear, 
Pined  on  the  threshold  of  the  Autumn  sere, 
And  mourned  their  ills  in  parting  Summer's  ear. 
The  waters  leaving  for  the  distant  main 
Sang  their  departure  in  a  muffled  strain; 
The  dove  complaining  at  the  barn  was  heard, 
And  sober  winds  the  naked  orchards  stirred. 
And  scarce  within  the  dreamy  vision's  reach 
The  drowsy  elms  prolonged  their  rooky  speech. 
In  Saville,  then  the  border  village  rude, 
Full  plenty's  songs  the  ear  of  labor  wooed, 
The  sun  was  high  on  his  emblazoned  way, 
The  woods  exulted  with  the  songs  of  day, 
And  rural  comfort's  well-contented  voice 
Each  household  filled  and  made  all  hearts  re- 
joice. 

The  rosy  milkmaid  gossiped  at  her  churn, 
The  lazy  windlass  groaned  at  each  slow  turn, 
The  distaff  whirred  and  chattered  in  the  door, 
The  swift  brooch  danced  along  the  sounding 

floor; 

The  matron  scolded,  and  her  hands  applied, 
The  wheel  went  sounding,  and  the  loom  replied. 
Sir  Maxey  then  with  horns,  his  hunters  proud, 
For  chase  assembled  in  a  roaring  crowd. 
Loud  rang  the  summons,  far  and  near  around, 
And  windy  signals  roused  the  kenneled  hound, 
And  when  the  bands  their  restive  horses  strode, 
The  wayside  trembled  as  they  spurned  the  road. 
Three  miles  from  Saville,  in  the  branchy  West, 
The  horsemen   on   their   boist'rous   way  had 
pressed, 


When  on  the  wild  marge  of  a  pathless  wood, 
They  held  their  flight,  and  list'ning  eager  stood. 
The  hounds  had  struck  a  trail  upon  the  brink, 
Where  late  an  antlered  stag  had  come  to  drink, 
The  cooling  waters  of  a  lonely  brook, 
That  mused  away  thro'  many  a  forest  nook. 
Soon  lively  baying  o'er  the  distance  broke, 
The  hills  re-echoed  and  the  forest  spoke. 
The  flying  pack  their  goodly  prey  had  sprung, 
St.  Vincennes'  pulseless  woodlands  deep  among. 
Like  eagles  flashing  from  the  vaulted  blue, 
The  fiery  steeds  in  level  flight  pursue. 
In  winding  glens  their  hoofy  thunders  break, 
And  hills  responsive  from  their  silence  wake. 
Sir  Maxey,  putting  spurs  directs  the  course. 
And  sweeps  away  upon  his  coal  black  horse. 
His  comrades  follow  close  in  lengthy  file, 
Wind  their  glad  horns  and  prime  their  guns 

meanwhile : 

The  woods  before  them  part  upon  the  eye, 
And  pass  in  dizzy  currents  as  they  fly ; 
And;crouching  thickets  scamper  as  tfcey  near , 
And  flee  together  as  they  disappear. 
Beyond   the  vision's   bounds  they  thus  haT« 

gone, 

Up  hill  and  down,  o'er  streams  and  on  and  on. 
But  now,  alone  on  foot  young  Rodney  hastes 
Along  a  passage  that  divides  the  wastes. 
Forbid  to  rank,  he  cannot  take  his  place 
With  mounted  hunters,  in  the  merry  chase. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  yet  no  tidings  gave 
Of  horse  or  hunter  to  the  anxious  slave, 
Till,  he  desparing,  turned  to  watch  a  trail, 
That  wound  along  the  thickly  wooded  vale. 

The  chase  now  hushed;  the  stag  beyond  his 

range, 

Had  lost  the  hunters  in  a  forest  strange ; 

(43) 


44 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND   YET    A    MAN, 


And  worn  and  hungry,  these  leisurely  drew 
To  where  small  fields  adorned  their  opening 

view. 

Beyond,  bark  lodges  here  and  there  are  seen 
Where  lofty  woods  rise  o'er  a  dark  ravine, 
And  slowly  nearing,  on  their  wond'ring  eyes, 
Soft  circling  smoke -wreaths   from   a   village 

rise, 

And  float  in  dreamy  cJouds  against  the  skies. 
They  pause,  look  onward,  know  not  what  to 

sajt 

When  thus,  Sir  Maxey  spurring,  leads  the  way : 
"  Come  on,  we'll  venture  down  and    ask  for 

food 

And  friendship  In  this  city  of  the  wood." 
The  hunters  follow  at  a  timid  pace, 
With  apprehension  kindled  in  each  face. 

They  reach  the  village,  slowly  thro'  it  ride, 

And  every  part  explore  from  side  to  side. 

They  find  it  is  deserted  by  all  save 

Small  groups  of  children  and  the  aged  brave. 

These  sit  in  converse  at  their  wigwam  doors, 

While  memory  the  valiant  past  explores ; 

They  on   the  neighb'ring  slopes    in  peaceful 

plays, 

Their  numbers  gather  and  their  voices  raise. 
The  squaws  are  lab'ring  in  their  scanty  fields, 
Content  with  what  their  wild  industry  yields ; 
To  bide  their  warriors'  much  desired  return 
From   distant   hunting  grounds  and  long  so- 
journ. 

The  Autumn  hills  are  in  serene  repose, 
The  lofty  forests,  in  their  stillness  dose, 
And  solitude  asserts  her  reign  afar 
From  civilization's  rest-disturbing  jar. 
But,  hoofy  'larm  the  woody  silence  breaks, 
The  thick  boughs  flutter  and  the  scene  awakes. 
Around  the  hunters,  childhood  flocks  to  gaze, 
And  age  arising,  looks  in  mute  amaze 
Upon  the  daring  strangers,  who  proceed 
To  rifle  tents,  and  load  each  anxious  steed. 
These  helpless  fathers  of  a  forest  race 
Glance  fearfully  into  each  other's  face, 
Pursue  the  pillagers  with  heated  eyes, 
And  empty  out  their  souls  in  frequent  sighs ; 
While  in  their  gath'ring  frowns  and  gestures 

rude, 

Wild  valor  overleaps  decrepitude, 
And  such  a  flourish  of  contempt  displays, 
As  shows  that  stern  resentment  is  ablaze. 
Ah!  could  they  but  recall  the  fleeting  years, 
Or  backwards  journey  to  where  disappears 


A  valiant  past,  and  reach  that  stalwart  time 
When  nimble  life  exulted  in  its  prime; 
Threefold  the  numbers  that  their  tents  defile 
Would  meet  destruction  in  their  conduct  vile. 
The  hunters  mount  menacing  as  they  go, 
And  thro'  the  village  disappearing  slow, 
Betake  them  to  the  woods  and  brisker  ride 
Along  the  neighb'ring  forest's  eastern  side. 

There  where  a  peaceful  streamlet  ambles  by 
Thro'  dabbling  ferns  and  gossips  cheerfully 
With  shaggy  roots  that  reach  into  the  flood, 
They  spy  a  maid  just  verging  womanhood. 
Now  ranging  feathers  in  her  head-gear  fair, 
And  with  her  fingers  combing  out  her  hair, 
She  on  the  prone  bank  stands,  where  smoothly 

flows 

The  liquid  mirror,  and  her  beauty  shows. 
Here    grand   old    sylvans   raise    their    solemn 

heads, 
And  fling  their  shades  about   her  where   she 

treads 
Beneath   their  outstretched    arms,  and    looks 

around 

For  pretty  colors  on  the  leafy  ground. 
The  hunters  see  her,  wayward  wild  and  sweet; 
She  sees  them  not,  nor  hears  the  horses'  feet. 
"Hold!"  cries    Sir  Maxey,    "  what  a  lovely 

maid! 

Ah!  what  a  princess  of  this  ancient  shade! 
Let  me  behold  her!     Quiet!    Do  not  move  I 
Did  admiration  e'er  see  such  a  dove? 
Young  love  no  sweeter  image  ever  drew 
Upon  imagination's  wildest  view. 
Her  perfect  form  in  idle  movement  seems 
The  happy  creature  of  my  youthful  dreams." 
A  rougher  comrade  at  his  elbow  growls, 
"A  purty  good  'un  o'  the  dusky  fowls, 
She's  hard  o'  hearin',  le'ra*  try  my  gun ; 
Give  her  a  skere,  and  see  the  red  wench  ran." 
His  deadly  eye  directs,  his  rifle  speaks, 
The    maiden   lifts  her    arms   and  runs    and 

shrieks; 

Towards  the  hunters  piteously  she  flies ; 
The  mournful  wastes  lamenting  with  her  cries, 
Till  at  their  feet  she  sinks,  and  all  is  o'er, 
Poor  bleeding  Nanawawa  is  no  more. 

Kind  heaven  reports  the  shameful  news  around, 
Far  as  her  sorrowing  winds  can  waft  the  sound ; 
Soft  echo  hears  and  answers  with  a  sigh, 
And  saddened  hills  refuse  to  make  reply. 
"  I  struck  her,"  grunts    the   ruffian   looking 
down. 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN, 


"  Let's   leave,"    Sir   Maxey   mutters   with    a 

frown ; 

And  on  they  ride,  and  covenant  to  keep 
The  crime  a  secret  in  their  bosoms  bidden  deep. 

But  harkl   what  mean  those  distant  shouts  that 

rise 

And  break  and  clamor  in  the  angry  skies? 
Flying  this  way,  the  heavy  air  they  wing, 
And  nearer,  clearer,  shriller,  faster  ring. 
The  forest  rages,  groan  the  loud  hills  sore, 
The  hoarse  earth  murmurs  and  the  heavens 

roar. 

Returning  warriors  sweep  the  hills  between ; 
The  fatal  gun  has  called  them  to  the  scene. 
Blazing  resentment  fires  their  warlike  blood, 
They've  passed,  their   dwellings    and  enraged 

pursued. 
And  mark  the  hunter  whom  their  wrath  o'er- 

takes 

For  on  his  head  a  storm  in  fury  breaks. 
Sir  Maxey's  band  their  loud  pursuers  hear, 
And  spurring  forward  leave  them  on  the  rear; 
For  Saville  wheeling  each  his  headlong  steed, 
They  dash  through  forests  with  defiant  speed. 
The  raging  warriors  reach  the  bloody  scene, 
See  Nanawawa  lifeless  on  the  green, 
A  moment  pause  and  scan  the  mournful  place, 
Still,  crafty  vengeance  darkening  in  each  face, 
The  way  the  band  went,  narrowly  then  in  view, 
And  all  another  route  at  once  pursue. 
But  one  tall  form  his  further  flight  restrains; 
Lo !  over  Nanawawa  one  remains  — 
The  White  Loon  bends,  and  presses  the  pale 

cheek, 

And  trembling  lips  that  can  no  longer  speak ; 
While  from  his  eyes  the  streams  of  sorrow 

start. 
And  downward  pours  the  anguish  of  his  manly 

heart. 

As  some  wild  fretful  stream  that  surges  hoarse, 
And  chafes  and  struggles  in  its  zig-zag  course 
Through  tangled  roots  and  under  ragged  stones, 
And  over  foamy  cat'racts  makes  its  moans, 
Till  headlong  down  the  mountain's  steepy  sides, 
The  smoother  current  unobstructed  glides; 
Flows  ev'ner  as  it  meets  the  level  main, 
And  sweeps  along  towards  the  open  plain ; 
So  now  the  pluming  bands  their  numbers  drew, 
In  fretful  streams  the  pathless  forests  thro'. 
This  way  and  that,  low  crouched,  they  galloped 

on, 
Stood  list'ning  here  and  there  a  hight  upon ; 


Moved  down  in  level  flight  beyond  the  glade, 
And  glided  into  silent  ambuscade ; 
And  in  the  branchy  covert  pond'ring  lay 
Beside  the  coming  hunter's  thoughtless  way. 
As  hungry  cougars  in  the  deep  morass, 
To  seize  on  unsuspecting  herds  that  pass, 
Lie  close  and  closer  as  their  prey  draws  nigh, 
Glance  at  each  other  with  impatient  eye, 
And  press  the  eager  moments  as  they  fly ; 
So  watch  these  cougars  of  the  wilderness, 
And  so  the  moment  of  assault  they  press. 
With  envious  haste  their  barb'rous  knives  they 

clasp, 

And  poise  their  tom'hawks  in  a  deadly  grasp, 
And  leaning  forward  on  their  ponies  wait, 
Like  eagles  on  their  pinions.    Coming  straight 
Along  the  gorge  the  hunter's  chatting  trot 
All  unsuspecting;  till  the  fatal  spot 
They  reach,  when  out  from  stilly  ambush  nigh, 
The  yelling  furies  forth  upon  them  fly. 
Once  from  the  tangling  branches  fairly  freed, 
Wild  retribution  fledges  savage  speed, 
Straight  on  the  band  like  thunder  bolts  they 

wheel, 

And  thro'  their  vitals  plunge  the  reeky  steel 
Swift  as  their  iron  strength  the  fatal  blows  cam 

deal. 


All  save  Sir  Maxey,  perish;  he  again 

Rides  through  the  storm  like  lightning  to  the 

plain, 

Drives  up  his  speed  and  sweeps  the  level  main : 
So  when  fierce  eagle  shoots  along  the  skies, 
Breaks  thro*  thick  ambient  clouds  and  down- 
ward flies, 

Above  the  landscape  swings  his  open  sail, 
And  hangs  in  stately  triumph  o'er  the  vale  — 
Forward  he  leans  at  each  successive  bound, 
As  on  and  on  he  thunders  o'er  the  ground. 
Hard  bears  his  courser  on  th'  unyielding  reins, 
Close-howling  danger  feeds  his  fiery  veins, 
Dilates  his  nostrils,  to  his  knees  inclined, 
And  pours  their  steamy  volumes  on  the  wind. 

O'er  log,  stone,  ditch,  mound,  shrub  and  brushy 

heaps, 

Away,  away  he  unobstructed  sweeps. 
In  vain  the  heaving  earth  beneath  him  groans, 
In  vain  the  rising  distance  makes  her  moans, 
In  vain  the  wand'ring  eye  his  flight  pursues, 
In  vain  the  ear  his  feet  receding  woos; 
Beyond  their  utmost  limits  all  he  shaves, 
Drown'd  in  the  rolling  depths  of  dusty  waves. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET    A   MAN. 


Meanwhile,  away  behind  disheartened  not, 
The  streaming  warriors  hard  pursuing  trot. 
What  tho1  the  courser  leave  them  like  the  wind? 
His  trail  they  see  and  him  they  yet  will  find. 

Fire  miles  or  more,  from  where  he  took  his 

flight, 

Alone?  the  summit  of  a  woody  height, 
Sir  Maxey  reigns  his  proud  horse  to  the  ground, 
And  far  and  near  for  Rodney  looks  around. 

As  a  dark  cloud  that  spurns  the  rising  gale, 
Athwart  it  rolls  and  deepens  in  the  vale, 
Pours  rolling  thunders  on  the  plains  below; 
When  flies  the  startled  rustic  from  his  plow, 
So  seemed  this  surging  courser  as  he  trode, 
With  bois'trous  hoof  and  strove  to  gain  the 
road. 

There  passing  soon  along  the  deep  wood-side, 
The  expert  of  the  wilds,  Sir  Maxey  spied. 
A  brace  of  fowls  and  bleeding  doe  were  strung 
Across  his  gun  and  o'er  his  shoulder  swung. 
Homewards  he  strode  anticipating  toast, 
Stewed  fowl  abundant,  and  savory  roast. 

"Here!  Rodney!    Here!"    Sir  Maxey  urgent 

cries, 

The  expert  pausing,  lifts  his  downward  ejes; 
Alarm  is  flashing  in  his  master's  face, 
With  looks  inquiring  now  he  mends  his  pace, 
When  thus  Sir  Maxey  loud  begins  to  cry : 
"  Fly  for  your  life !  for  God's  sake,  Rodney,  fly ! 
A  tribe  of  Sacs  are  swarming  on  my  rear 
Dreadful  to  see,  but  dreadful  more  to  hear! 
They'll  scalp  us  all  and  burn  the  town  I  fear." 
Towards  the  town  the  Champion  lifts  his  eyes, 
And  on  his  master  fixing,  thus  replies : 
"No!  let  us  meet  them;   hold  your  further 

flight, 

Retreat's  in  order  ne'er  before  a  fight. 
To  fly  will  but  reduce  our  needed  strength, 
And  make  resistance  feebler,  and  at  length 
Expose  our  village  to  the  storming  foe ; 
Who,  if  repulsed,  will  reinforcements  show. 
As  some  fierce  beast  who  hears  his  baying  foes, 
Upon  his  sedgy  realms  begin  to  close, 
With  growing  rage  flies  from  his  hidings  dense, 
And  throws  his  lordly  strength  on  the  defense ; 
So  Rodney,  from  his  cov'ring  in  the  wood, 
Flew  to  the  breach,  and  waiting,  firmly  stood. 
Soon  he  beheld  the  warriors  close  at  hand, 
Him  they  behold,  his  movements  understand, 
Wheel  from  his  rifle,  and  their  flight  renew, 


All,  save  two  mightiest  who  their  man  pursue  — 
For  now  Sir  Maxey  had  begun  again 
His  wild  flight  and  was  leaving  o'er  the  plain  — 
These  two  dismount  and  turn  their  ponies  loose 
And  in  the  woods  their  vantage  places  choose, 
Peer  thro'  the  thick  boughs  with  a  stealthy  eye, 
Till  at  his  mark  one  lets  an  arrow  fly. 
Thro*  flinching  branches  rings  the    feathered 

harm, 

And  strikes  its  painful  barb  in  Rodney's  arm. 
E'en  as  a  bear  whom  crouching  hunter  wound, 
Tears  at  the  pain,  and  rages  o'er  the  ground, 
Till  in  the  copse  the  hidden  foe  he  spies, 
And  on  his  covert  like  a  fury  flies; 
So  Rodney,  when  the  flinty  stroke  he  feels, 
Plucks  out  the  shaft  and  from  his  cover  wheels ; 
Rages  defiant  thro'  the  sounding  wood, 
Till  near  the  wary  foe  his  steps  intrude. 
Quick  as  some  stag,  when  horns  and  hounds 

assail 

His  secret  lair  within  the  leafy  vale ; 
The  pluming  savage  springs  upon  his  feet; 
His  and  bold  Rodney's  eyes  defiant  meet. 
Each  dreads  the  onset  for  the  glare  of  death 
Warms  his  foe's  eyes,  and  fury  heats  his  breath. 
The    chief's    arm   ne'er   by   wildest   dangers 

swerved, 

And  Rodney's  by  a  life  of  hardships  nerved ; 
With  nimble  haste  their  leathern  belt's  they 

feel, 

And  in  the  sun  unsheath  their  deadly  steel. 
Each  lifted  hand  its  ghastly  freight  displays, 
Each  hurried  glance  the  narrow  field  surveys ; 
With  each,  defiance  can  no  farther  go, 
Unless  it  walked  beyond  a  prostrate  foe. 
As  two  tall  beeches  shaken  by  the  wind 
Approach  each  other;  now  with  heads  inclined, 
Now  rush  away  with  quick  impetuous  roar, 
And  now  approach,  inclining  as  before ; 
So  bending  to  and  fro  these  champions  stand, 
Until  they  rush  together,  hand-to-hand, 
Rough  as  the  surge  when  sounding  billows  meet 
Between  the  schooners  of  an  anchored  fleet. 
Each  in  his  left  hand  holds  the  other's  right. 
And  struggles  o'er  the  ground  in  horrid  plight ; 
Now  on  their  knees,  now  bounding  in  the  air, 
And  now  half-stooped  to  earth,  and  groaning 

there. 
Their  lips  all  death-like  on  their  teeth  they 

clench 

And  grate  defiance  harsh  at  each  long  wrench, 
That  vainly  strives  the  grasp  to  disengage, 
And  in  the  foe's  heart  plunge  the  steely  edge. 
The  savage  champion  feels  his  waning  strength 


"  Where  shores  of  sweetest  green  ascend 
And  thick  boughs  o'er  the  waters  bend." 

"  Not  a  Man,  and  yet  a  Man." —  Page  j8,  lines  ip  and  20. 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN. 


47 


Give  away  and  yielding  to  his  fears,  at  length 
Pours  forth  three  dreadful  whoops  of  wild  dis- 
tress, 

That  startle  all  the  lonely  wilderness. 
An  answer  in  the  distance  soon  was  heard, 
And  parting  a  dense  thicket  now  appeared 
A  warrior  fell,  with  cautious  step  and  slow, 
As  when  some  cougar  scents  a  covered  foe. 
New  life  to  Rodney  I    Gracious  Heaven  save ! 
A  doubled  danger  doubly  nerves  the  brave  I 
He    frees    his    knile  with    desp'rateness    of 

strength, 

And  in  the  savage  sheaths  its  deadly  length; 
And  as  he  lifeless  sinks  with  a  loud  groan, 
Bold  Rodney  at  the  other  heaves  a  stone. 
Firm  on  his  head  the  shrieking  fragment  flies, 
The  dying  warrior  rolls  his  painful  eyes, 
Sinks  on  the  turf,  that  whitens  with  his  brains, 
And  hugs  the  clod  that  drinks  his  flowing  veins. 

The  dauntless  hero  of  the  woody  waste, 
To  leave  the  scene  of  blood  directs  his  haste ; 
With  gun  in  hand,  surveys  his  passage  well, 
And  strides  along  the  stream-divided  dell ; 
Arrives  in  Saville  ere  the  sun  goes  down ; 
Explains  his  wounds,  and  makes  his   combat 

known. 
With  tongues  of  praise   the  village  meets  her 

slave, 
The  women  soothe,  and  cheer  him,  all  the  brave. 

But  now  the  brake  conceals  a  skulky  foe, 
And  o'er  him  darkness  drops  a  mantle  low 
41  Ah!  Sad  mistake!"  the  fathers  of  the  town 
In  painful  concert  mutter  up  and  down 
The  mournful  streets;  "Ahmet  a  fatal  freak! 
When  wisdom  yields  to  folly,  valor's  weak. 
The  sober  blacksmith  threw  his  hammer  down, 
And  wiped  the  great  drops  from  a  sooty  frown, 
Sat  on  his  anvil,  and  with  words  of  steel 
Went  on  to  utter  what  his  heart  did  feel. 
And  as  the  sun  sank  in  the  hills1  embrace, 
His  sad  rays  streaming  in  old  Joseph's  face, 
That  vacant  looked,  a  picture  made  of  dread, 
That  many  strong  hearts  trembled  as  they  read. 

"  What?  Hoi"  Sir  Maxey  shouts  with  martial  air, 
"  Before  a  struggle  yield  not  to  despair, 
for  indiscretions  valor  makes  amends, 
We  hold  the  means,  and  God  directs  the  ends. 
Fly  to  your  arms,  and  set  a  heavy  guard, 
And  coolness  keep  for  strategy  prepared. 
Have  wives  and  children  shut  in  doors  till  morn, 
And  then  will  danger  of  his  strength  be  shorn." 


The  honest  cotters  hear  him  with  a  sigh, 
And  glance  around  them  with  a  doubtful  eye ; 
Proceed  toward  the  village  church  and  stand 
In  dread  suspense,  a  hopeless  little  band. 
Now  darkness  lowers  like  a  gloomy  pall, 
The  muffled  drum  proclaims  a  solemn  call, 
And  lights  blown  out  reposeless  courage  waits 
The  signal  of  the  sentry  at  the  gates. 
In  converse  low,  the  fathers  watch  in  arms, 
For  night's  familiar  sounds  now  seem  alarms. 
The  deep  low  baying  of  unusual  curs, 
Discloses  restlessness  not  wholly  theirs, 
For  honest  dogs  that  stealthiness  abhor, 
Which  doth  conceal  the  steps  of  savage  war. 
Hark !  List !  a  war-whoop  starts  the  dismal  fen ! 
A  moment  hushes,  and  is  heard  again. 
Hope  ends  her  flight,  conjectures  disappear, 
Attack  is  certain,  and  the  foe  is  near. 
With  noiseless  tread  the  sylvan  warrior  steals, 
(Him  darkness  in  her  mantle  folds  conceals,) 
Beneath  the  very  cabin's  walls,  unseen, 
And  yet  may  pass  the  peering  watch  between. 
When  Heav'n  responsive  to  his  sally  cries, 
Shall  hideous  grow,  and  shut  her  sickened  eyes, 
And  from  the  pitchy  womb  of  darkness  born, 
Red  massacre  behold  a  lurid  morn. 
Ah!  now  must  valor  feel  the  trying  test 
That  tells  the  manhood  of  each  throbbing  breast. 
Escape  hath  shut  her  gates  upon  his  eye 
And  leaves  one  doomed  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

In  age's  low'ring  look  and  muffled  speech, 
The  young  see  trouble,  and  with  sobs  beseech 
An  explanation  from  the  lips  which  hold 
The  dreadful  secret  that  cannot  be  told. 
Childhood  avoids  the  magic  wand  of  sleep ; 
And  deepest  night  essays  in  vain  to  steep 
The  wakeful  senses  in  her  drowsy  dews ; 
Close  on  composure's  heels  alarm  pursues. 
In  solemn  council  lean  the  village  sires, 
Till  hope's  last  ember  on  the  hearth  expires; 
Sir  Maxey's  indiscretions  all  deplore, 
And  thus  In  concert  sad  their  minds  explore : 
"  Our  ammunition  most  in  hunting  spent, 
Our  numbers  scattered  and  resistance  bent, 
To  send  to  Dearborn  now  for  troops  remains 
The  only  prospect  that  our  reason  gains, 
The  troops  perhaps,  by  timely  warning  may, 
In  mounted  march,  rescue  the  sinking  day. 
But,  who  will  go?    Who'll  dare  these  twenty 

miles, 

Of  forest  peril,  night  and  savage  wiles? 
Who'll  bear  the  news,  when  he  on  foot  must  go, 
For  not  a  horse  can  'scape  the  wary  foe!" 


48 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   VET   A   MAN. 


The  young  and  valiant  called  upon  to  choose 

The  way  to  glory  or  her  nights  refuse, 

In  vacant  looks  this  truth  leave  manifest, 

The  glory-fires  burn  in  some  other's  breast. 

Then,  as  a  hunter  calls  his  faithful  dog, 

To  dare  the  treach'rous  sands  and  cross  a  bog, 

Sir  Maxey  to  his  bleeding  servant  cries: 

"  Say,  Rodney,  can't  you  fly  to  Dearborn?  Rise, 

Your  rifle  take,  be  quick!  look  sharp!  be  gone| 

Let  what  you  do  be  well  and  quickly  done." 

As  some  proud  rock  that  angry  floods  oppose 
In  all  their  storm  lashed  rage,  Rodney  arose, 
Disgust  red  kindling  in  his  manly  face, 
Looked  on  the  lords  of  his  unhappy  race, 
And  spoke :  "  My  masters,  such  your  titles  are, 
Let  all  irreverence  from  my  thoughts  be  far ; 
But  I've  till  now  a  silent  list'ner  been, 
And  have  your  timid  hesitations  seen. 
And  now  I  ask,  with  but  a  servant's  claim 
To  audience,  and  in  a  servant's  name ; 
I  ask,  with  what  do  brave  men  guard  their  wives, 
Their  homes,  and  children,  but  with  their  own 

lives? 

With  all  that  your  hearts  cherish  as  your  own, 
With  all  they  know,  and  all  they've  ever  known, 
Exposed  to  danger,  suing  you  for  aid, 
I  ask,  why  have  you  this  evasion  made? 
If  I,  an  alien  to  your  house  and  hearth, 
The  ignoble  creature  of  a  slavish  birth, 
Am  called  to  take  your  parts,  be  well  apprised, 
Your  conduct  is  but  cowardice  disguised. 
Had  I  a  single  treasure  to  me  dear, 
A  single  home  joy  bright,  or,  ever  were 
I  owner  of  my  life,  my  arm  I'd  bare, 
And  in  defense  would  death  or  peril  dare; 
But  none  of  these,  and  not  a  cheer  within 
My  darkened  breast,  what  may  I  hope  to  win? 
Naught  but  your  praise  for  mere  obedience, 
The  fame  of  dogs  I     Nay!  ere  !•  go  from  hence, 
Bring  down  command  and  make  it  a  request, 
Own  me  a  man,  and  trust  a  manly  breast; 
For  be  assured,  although  your  slave  am  I, 
He  will  not  cower,  who  will  dare  to  die ; 
The  gaping  wounds  I  for  my  master  wear, 
Already  warn  me  that  enough  I  bear." 

Now,  Rodney  ended,  and  a  mute  despair 

Fell  on  his  hearers,  for  he  breathed  an  air, 

So  foreign  to  their  knowledge  of  a  slave, 

With  liberty  so  audaciously  brave; 

That  with  the  tameness  of  stupidity, 

They  on  their  bosoms  leaned  their  chins,  to  see 

Weak  folly  tamper  with  a  lion;  when 


Sir  Maxey  turned  away,  nor  spoke  again. 
In  hope's  wide  fields  there  was  no  further  day, 
And  now  their  only  star  had  passed  away. 
As  when  besieging  clouds  surround  the  hills, 
Whose  troubled  bosoms  night  with  terror  fills, 
The  shepherd  trembles  in  his  darkened  tent, 
To  hear  the  mountains  wail  and  woods  lament; 
Till  lo!  upon  the  brim  of  vision  far 
Appears  the  day  led  by  the  morning  star ; 
So  quaked  these  townsmen  of  St.  Vincennes* 

wood, 

Till  in  their  midst  fair  Dora  Maxey  stood. 
A  ray  of  hope  in  all  their  bosoms  now , 
A  day-break  on  a  mountain's  darkened  brow, 
So  young  and  gentle,  so  serenely  wild, 
At  once  a  heroine  and  a  lovely  child  1 
The  men  dispersing  with  her  conqu'ring  eyes, 
In  daring  tones  to  Rodney  she  replies : 
"  Brave  servant,  thou  has  nobly  said  and  true, 
Let  valor  wear  his  scars  and  glory  too, 
But  know  that  woman  by  her  jealous  lords 
Unhindered,  in  her  great  heart  e'er  awards 
To  stalwart  manhood,  love,  esteem  and  praise, 
And  glories  most  in  his  most  daring  ways. 
By  caste's  frail  grants  let  those  gain  hearts  who 

can, 

What  woman  loves  is  manliness  in  man. 
Now  she  is  here,  for  her  thy  life  expose, 
And  nobler  years  will  thy  rewards  disclose. 
The  time  now  comes  this  way,  when  Gratitude 
Shall  clasp  thee  to  her  bosom,  and  the  good 
And  great,  and  brave  of  all  the  valiant  earth 
Shall  own,  nay  more,  delight  to  own  thy  worth. 
To   Dearborn  then  and  spread    the  dreadful 

news, 

While  danger's   hights  more  timid   poute  re- 
fuse." 

Now  Rodney  bow'd  his  face  towards  the  ground , 
Until  his  bosom  this  expression  found: 
"  The  humble  subject  of  thy  will  I  stand, 
For  thy  request  to  me  is  a  command, 
The  which  to  disobey *s  the  coward's  task, 
Mine  is  to  do,  fair  one,  and  yours  to  ask. 

Now  Dora's  lily-touch  with  sweetest  haste, 
Her  father's  weapons  on  his  servant  placed, 
And  thus  the  fortunes  of  the  hour  decides; 
For  he,  with  gun  in  hand  and  nimble  strides^ 
The  speechless  groups  of  villagers  divides, 
With  cougar  caution  slowly  out  proceeds, 
And  faster  goes  as  further  he  recedes, 
Till  passing  on  deep  in  the  howling  night 
His  footsteps  sink,  and  he  is  out  of  sight. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN, 


49 


While  still  suspense    with  throbbing  int'rest 

waits, 

And  slow  speeched  instances  relates 
Of  howling  dangers  conquered  by  the  fates; 
Of  savage  bands,  when  border  strength  was 

small, 

Beat  back  from  many  a  forest-cabin's  wall, 
Of  women  moulding  as  their  husbands  fired, 
And  children  watching  where  the  foe  retired; 
Fair  Dora  leaning  on  her  elbow,  sate 
Within  her  window,  o'er  the  village  gate 
That  eastward  looked  towards  Dearborn,  and 

prayed 
That  Rodney  be  not  in  the  wilds  delayed. 


CANTO  II. 

THE  EAIR  CAPTIVE. 

The  idle  winds  at  dawn  that  strayed 
Thro'  waving  depths  of  forest  shade, 
The  early  chirp  of  waking  boughs, 
The  carol  of  the  mountain  brows, 
The  cataract's  brawl  afar  that  broke 
The  drowsy  stillness  of  the  mom, 
And  eager  baying  which  awoke 
Responsive  to  a  lonely  horn, 
In  covert  of  a  distant  dell, 
On  Rodney's  ear  like  omens  fell; 
For  troubled  Dearborn  he  had  found 
In  need  of  all  his  garrison; 
And  now  for  Saville  sadly  bound 
With  pensive  steps  he  hastened  on. 

Wild,  the  unbroken  landscapes  lay 
Along  his  solitary  way. 
And  scarce  seen  thro'  the  morning  gray ; 
To  right  and  left  against  the  sky, 
The  border  hills  arose  on  high ; 
And  as  upon  his  view  they  rose, 
And  roused  their  forests  from  repose, 
Soon  through  the  lonely  glen  and  far 
Along  the  rocks  whose  summits  bar 
The  first  approaches  of  young  light, 
Now  Rodney  turns  his  nimble  flight. 

Miles  off  an  ample  hill  upon, 
His  footsteps  met  the  rising  sun. 
His  eyes  as  eager  as  the  streaks 
That  morning  dashed  along  the  peaks 
In  quivering  crimson ;  far  away 
The  nook  sequestered  did  survey, 
'Mid  which  his  fated  Saville  lay. 


A  faint  smoke  rose,  and  slowly  curled 

In  pensive  wreaths  towards  the  sky ! 

And  drifting  farther  off  on  high, 

Like  visions  of  a  future  world; 

Hung  thinly  on  a  distant  shore 

Of  indistinctness ;  floated  o'er, 

Now  dimly  seen,  —  now  seen  no  more. 

What  apprehensions  thrilled  him  now! 

Ah  what  conjectures  knit  his  brow! 

Had  Saville  just  from  calm  repose 

Awakened  ?    Or  had  pluming  foes 

Her  cheerful  homes  in  ashes  lain, 

And  heaped  her  sacred  hearths  with  slain? 

The  dilatory  smoke  seem'd  born 

Of  plenty's  cheer  —  awakened  morn. 

Down  from  the  bights  his  way  along, 
From  rock  to  rock,  till  lost  among 
The  lofty  woods  that  sobbed  and  sighed, 
He  turned  his  yet  untiring  stride ; 
And  from  the  intervening  vale, 
Emerged  and  stood  with  horror  pale. 

Coal  heaps  where  homes  once  stood,  and  bodies 

charred, 

Of  innocence  and  beauty  in  the  heaps ; 
Scalped  heads  from  love's  keen  knowledge  even 

barred, 

By  savage  hands ;  and  then  little  steeps, 
Where   wound   the   village  paths  to  field    or 

wood, 

Made  red  and  slippery  with  blood, 
Were  sights  that  filled  the  hero's  painful  eyes; 
The  issue  of  the  night's  hostilities. 
Ah!  how  destruction's  devastating  hand 
There   fell    upon    delights!      How    his  eye 

scanned 

With  savage  glee,  the  ghastly  path  he  made 
Thro'  Peace's  bow'rs  within  the  western  shade ! 

Lo!  now  the  champion  bends  his  daring  brow 
And  thro'  the  ruins  plods  pond'ringly  slow; 
A  sob  suppresses,  sighing,  "  Me!  ah,  me! 
O,  Dora!  my  best  angel  where  is  she?  " 

A  tiny  heel-print  leaving,  soon  he  spies, 

In  which  there  here  and  there  a  torn  spray  lies ; 

The  way  it  leads  with    breathing  hushed   he 

views, 

And.  eager  as  a  rolling  flood  pursues. 
Thro'  dense   shades  peering  now  he    threads 

along, 

He  gains  commanding  hills,  high  woods  among. 
With  fearless  steps  divides  the  lowly  vale, 
And  nimble  as  a  hart  the  rocks  doth  scale. 


50 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


Of  how  he  sped  for  eager  miles  away; 
How  strange  scenes  filled  the  melancholy  day, 
Of  how  the  rustle  of  some  waste-fed  herd, 
How  plantive  woods  that  piped  and  chirped  and 

stirred ; 

Or  how  the  distant  cat'ract's  pensive  moan 
Alarmed  or  moved  him,  cannot  here  be  shown ; 
But  on  in  wild  pursuit  he  ventures  still, 
And  stands  at  sundown  on  an  oak-brow'd  hill, 
Till  darkness  coming  on  with  noiseless  tread, 
Doth  o'er  the  world  her  rayless  mantle  spread. 

Uot  many  paces  had  the  night  come  on 

Creeping  with  sable  steps,  when  still  upon 

A  log  sat  Rodney  in  despondent  mood ; 

When,  lo !  a  light  approached  him  in  the  wood. 

**  What!"  rising  cries  he,  in  an  undertone, 

*'  Is  this  which  haunts  me  in  these  wilds  alone?" 

And  quick  aside  he  noiselessly  steals, 

To  where  a  denser  shade  his  form  conceals ; 

Soon  two  old  women  of  the  skulky  bands, 

Mope  by  with  pots  of  water  in  their  hands, 

Torches  they  bear,  upon  their  way  to  shine, 

In  oil  steeped,  and  riven  from  the  pine. 

He  marks  their  movements  with  an  eager  eye, 

Their  way  pursues,  and  waits  discovery. 

So  when  some  mastiff  thro'  the  sleeping  folds, 

A  stranger  passing  stealthily  beholds 

He  waiting  lies,  or  follows  crouching  low, 

The  errand  of  the  visitor  to  know ; 

When,  if  on  thieving  he  shall  find  him  bent 

He  then  shall  feel  a  roaring  chastisement. 

Lo  I  where  beyond  the  vale  a  cliff  ascends, 
Around  whose  base  an  unknown  river  bends, 
A  smoking  camp  the  peering  watcher  spies, 
And  warlike  satisfaction  lights  his  eyes. 
Beneath  the  fire-lit  boughs  he  can  behold 
The  busy  squaws  swarm'd  round  by  warriors 

bold. 

Then  in  the  rocks,  a  score  of  yards  away, 
He  like  a  crouching  lion  eyes  his  prey. 
"  Oh,  Heav'n !  "  he  gasps,  and  turns  his  frenzied 

eyes 

From  where  in  hideous  hands  fair  Dora  lies, 
To  raving  lusts  a  fair  and  tender  prize. 
The  rabble  now  in  high  confusion  runs, 
Their  knives  the  warriors  grasp  and  now  their 

guns. 

Claim  the  fair  triumph  ere  the  game  decides, 
While  shouting  might  the  opposing  voice  de- 
rides. 

Soon  other  methods  they  to  conquest  choose. 
This  one  or  that  the  sweet  young  captive  woos 


With  wild  expressions  of  languishing  love, 
Like  demons  longing  for  the  light  above. 
With  heated  eyes  they  stare  into  her  face, 
Drag  her  soft  bosom  in  a  rough  embrace ; 
Their  beads  display,  their  painted  head  gear 

show ; 

Like  satyrs  gibber,  and  like  monsters  blow. 
Sweet  as  the  vespers  of  some  plaintive  stream, 
Or  as  the  sounds  in  a  mid-summer's  dream, 
Dora   lisps   something,  with   her  fair   hands 

clasped, 
When,  "Ah,  my  God,  she  prays!  "  wild  Rodney 

gasped. 

The  camp  fires  glare  upon  her  lifted  hands, 
And  on  her  wrists  disclose  the  bloody  bands. 
When,  in  the  night,  the  hero    thrusts  his  form, 
Pierce  as  the  lightning  arm  that  strikes  the 

storm. 

A  stalwart  warrior  hands  the  pleading  maid, 
And  drags  her  roughly  thro'  the  darkling  shade, 
While  to  her  tender  remonstrance  replies 
A  monster's  scowl,  and   laughter  mocks   her 

cries. 

The  fiery  watcher  scans  the  dark  field  o'er, 
And  finds  a  smooth  way  straight   his  feet  be- 
fore. 
Now  all  his  strength  he   in  his   poised   arm 

flings, 
The    impatient    moment   checks    its    onward 

wings; 

Till  like  an  eagle  dropping  from  the  skies, 
Right  on  the  howling  band   the  swift  avenger 

flies. 

A  flash  of  steely  lightning  from  his  hand, 
Strikes  down  the  groaning  leader  of  the  band ; 
Divides  his  startled  comrades,  and  again 
Descending,  leaves  fair  Dora's  captor  slain. 
Her,  seizing  then  within  a  strong  embrace, 
Out  in  the  dark  he  wheels  his  flying  face; 
His  victims  leaves  to  struggle  with  surprise, 
And  like  a  phantom  thro'  the  forest  flies. 
She,  brave  as  life,  against  his  bosom  lies ; 
Gasps,  "  Rodney,  is  it  you,  or  but  a  dream! 
Oh,  have  you  come !    Oh,  are  things  what  they 

seem?  " 

He  speaks  not,  but,  with  stalwart  tenderness 
Her  swelling  bosom  firm  on  his  doth  press ; 
Springs  like  a  stag  that  flees  the  eager  hound, 
And  like  a  whirlwind  rustles  o'er  the  ground. 
Her  locks  swim  in  dishevelled  wildness  o'er 
His  shoulders,  streaming  to  his  waist  or  more ; 
While  on  and  on,  strong  as  a  rolling  flood, 
His  sweeping  footsteps  part  the  silent  wood. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A   MAN. 


51 


Now  low  beneath  the  tangled  boughs  he  leant, 
Now  thro'  the  tow'ring  upland  swifter  bent, 
And  on  a  hill,  where  in  its  gentler  sway, 
The  sky  was  lighted  by  the  milky  way, 
He  pausing  stood,  to  cast  a  look  around, 
And  catch,  if  possible,  some  warning  sound. 
But  all  was  still ;  the  wide  world  was  asleep, 
Save  that  a  waking  night-wind  there  did  creep. 
Then  Dora,  a  heroine  fair  and  true, 
Cried,  "Rodney!     Rodney!    Ah,   I  know  His 

you." 

"  Yes,  Dora,'*  lisps  the  champion,  and  applies 
His  bloody  knife  to  loose  her  painful  ties ; 
When,  like  a  bird  that  mounts  on  airy  wing, 
To  dash  into  the  light  of  joyous  spring, 
She  rose,  she  fluttered  to  his  strong  embrace, 
With  streams  of  joy  in  her  upturned  face. 
Heaven  might  envy  such  a  scene  as  this, 
Since  angels  ken  no  more  of  perfect  bliss 
Than,  —  when  disaster  and  a  direful  day 
Conspire  to  lead  a  fair  young  life  away 
In  captive  chains,  to  red-eyed  lusts  a  prey, — 
Is  felt  by  him  whose  fearless  hand  rescues, 
Tho'  howling  danger  on  his  path  pursues. 

Miles  further  on  the  twain  in  converse  stand, 
Where  depth  on  depth  the  rayless  wastes  ex- 
pand; 

Together  lean,  and  on  their  lone  way  peer, 
Listen,  to  catch  night's  voices  but  hear 
Their  hearts  beat  only  like  the  footfalls  weird, 
That  in  the  lonely  breast  are  always  heard. 
From  gaping  wounds  much  Rodney's  strength 

has  flown ; 

Against  a  tree  he  sets  his  rifle  down, 
Submits  to  Nature's  all  compelling  sway, 
And  there  concludes  to  wait  returning  day. 
His  blanket  winds  his  manly  form  around, 
And  spreads  his  weary  length  along  the  ground. 
"Here,  Dora,"  then  he  speaks,  "rest  on  my 

arm, 

My  life  shall  stretch  between  you  and  all  harm ; 
Your  frail  and  much  worn  strength  some  rest 

must  have, 
Or  you'll  escape  the  foe  to  find  a  grave." 

No  word  speaks  Dora,  but  her  timid  eyes 
Survey  the  spot  where  her  defender  lies; 
Then  as  a  lamb  when  prowling  wolves  appear, 
The  horned  defender  of  the  folds  will  near, 
She  'preaches  Rodney;  stands  in  trustful  mood 
And  looks  around  her  in  the  dismal  wood. 
Reluctant  now,  and  innocently  shy, 
She  kneels  upon  her  turfy  couch  close  by, 


Her  hands  extend,  so  delicately  white, 
In  earnest  prayer  unto  the  God  of  Night, 
In  grace  Divine  upon  her  to  descend, 
And  o'er  her  guardian  to  in  mercy  bend. 
Then  in  his  bosom  nestles  with  deep  sighs 
That  bring  great  drops  of  sadness  to  his  eyes. 
"Oh  sleep,  descend,  and  seal  thy  lovely  sight!" 
Sighed  Rodney  in  his  heart;  "no  harm  this 

night 

Can  thee  befall.    And  when  the  op'ning  day 
Shall  lend  its  light  to  guide  us  on  our  way, 
My  life  shall  guard  the  path  before  thy  feet; 
Tho'  dangers  throng  in  thick  array  to  meet." 

The  bending  heavens  drop  a  tear  and  sigh. 
Old  forest  sent'nels    spread  their  shelter  nigh, 
And  night  winds   burthened  with  their  heavy 

dews, 
Strip  off  their  chUlness,  and  their  soft  sounds 

use, 

While  in  deep  musings  sits  the  pensive  hour 
And  fills  composure's  urn  in  slumber's  bower. 
Robing  the  hills  in  light  and  beauty,  now 
A  late  moon  hangs  upon  yon  mountain's  brow, 
Looks  stilly  on  the    world's   round  sleeping 

face, 
Then  veiled  in  clouds  withdraws  with  queenly 

grace. 
Now   Dora  wakes    from   strange   and    fitful 

dreams, 

The  brightest  rival  of  the  bright  moon's  beams. 
Soft  light  between  the  parting  branches  steals, 
And  Rodney's  stern,  still,  manly  brow  reveals, 
In  him  who  slumbers,  one  can  better  read 
The  master  passions  and  the  thoughts  which 

lead; 

For,  then  the  face,  obedient  to  no  call 
Of  shrewd  deceit,  shows  nothing  false  at  all; 
But  on  the  features  silent  truth  doth  write 
Her  plainest  letters,  in  their  plainest  light. 
Thus,  sighing,  looked  the   fair  young  frontier 

maid 

Into  the  sleeper's  manful  face,  and  said: 
"  What  deep  marks  there  hath  hardship's  plow- 
share laid? 

Reserve  how  manly  there !    What  self-control ! 
What  resolution!    Ah  a  man  of  soul!" 
Then,  as  some  bird  that  hails  the  bloom-crown- 
ed spring, 

O'er  sunny  meadows  spreads  its  wayward  wing, 
And  joyous  flits  where  all  the  woodlands  sing; 
Dora,  as  wayward,  lifts  her  lovely  mouth, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  blossoms  of  the  South ; 
On  Rodney's  forehead  parts  the  tangled  hair, 


52 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


And  gently  leaves  affection's  impress  there. 
He  wakes;  and   straightway   Dora   whispers: 

"Look; 

How  yonder  moon  lights  up  this  lonely  nook 
With  silver  glory !    Could  I  but  forget 
Dear  Saville,  and  the  scenes  that  haunt  me  yet, 
Rapt  fancy  here  would  build  a  wild  retreat, 
And  gladly  linger  in  her  forest  seat.1' 
Then  Rodney,  rising:  •'  Day  is  almost  here, 
For  now  the  Seven  Stars  do  disappear; 
So,  think  not,  Dora,  o'er  the  past  to  brood; 
For  loneliness  abhors  a  theme  of  blood; 
The  day  may   o'er  your   sorrows   brightness 

fling; 

The  saddest  winter  hath  a  joyous  Spring. 
Hope  on,  for  this  sweet  dream  I  had  to-night; 
I  stood  high  on  a  farm-surrounded  hight, 
Where  fruitful  hills  rose  round  the  even  view, 
Not  indistinct,  but  robed  in  charming  blue. 
There,  sober  herds  in  peaceful  order  strayed, 
And  tinkling  folds  enliven'd  the  evening  shade. 
Now  I  reclining  on  my  elbow  leant, 
To  sweet  winds  list'ning  as  they  came  and  went, 
When,  o'er  me  bending,  ere  I  saw  from  where, 
An  angel  stood  in  golden  waves  of  hair 
Half  drowned.    Regarding  me   with  care,  she 

drew 
Towards  me,  pressed  my   brow,  and  upwards 

flew." 

Then  spake  the  angel  of  the  hero's  dream : 
"  Surely  some  happy  token  that  doth  seem, 
And,  could  we  but  unveil  the  mystery, 
And  now  discover  the  vast  yet  to  be, 
Some  future  bliss  we  both  in  it  might  see." 
And  with  evasive  sweetness  now  she  turns 
To  where  the  mournful  waste,  her   Saville's 

ashes  urns. 

Much  she  relates,  and  he  attentive  hears, 
Sometimes  with  groans  and  sometimes  almost 

tears. 

The  waiting  town  in  deep  suspense  she  shows, 
While  break  and  fen  are  howling  with  her  foes. 
With  heavy  countenance  and  long  drawn  sighs, 
The  villagers  go  forth  with  down-cast  eyes ; 
The  women  weep,  and  pray,  and  tear  their 

hair, 

And  raise  a  storm  of  turbulent  despair. 
Children  and  women  now  are  barred  in  doors, 
Outside,  the  heavy  footed  tumult  roars, 
And  loud  is  heard  the  bloody-handed  fray. 
The  townsmen  struggle,  but  are  swept  away. 
Out  in  the  storm  the  screaming  children  fly, 
And  frantic  mothers  follow  them  or  try, 


But  this  on  Rodney's  soul  doth  saddest  stay: 
Dora  is  dragged  a  captive  in  the  wilds  away. 

Fair  Dora  ended  here,  and  Rodney  rose, 
Walked  from  the  boughs  that  did  their  rest  en- 
close, 
And  said:   "Let's  journey;  yonder  comes  the 

morn; 
See!    how  the   mountains  laugh  the  night  to 

scorn  I 

And  hand  in  hand  they  meet  the  opening  day, 
As  on  to  Dearborn  Rodney  leads  the  way. 


CANTO  in. 

FORT  DEARBORN. 

Fort  Dearborn  is  a  strong  and  goodly  place, 
And  on  the  frontier  guards  a  valiant  race, 
And  greets  the  hostile  tread  of  savage  harm, 
With  tongue  of  thunder  and  an  iron  arm. 
Far  up  it  stands,  on  a  commanding  ground, 
With  grizzly  turrets  rising  high  around; 
Block  houses  rude  protect  the  outer  posts, 
Where  sentries  pass  before  the  camping  hosts. 

Here,  erst,  as  eagle  drives  the  trembling  dove 
O'er  meadows  broad,  to  shelt'ring  cliffs  above; 
Proud  Black  Hawk  rose,  stern  monarch  of  the 

wood, 

The  red  Napoleon  of  Solitude, 
And  drove  young  civilization  from  the  West, 
To  fly  and  hover  in  Fort  Dearborn's  breast; 
Till  peace  returning,  with  a  gentle  hand, 
Went  forth  again  to  plant  the  flow'ry  land. 

Long   since    the   Nation's   valiant    arm    had 

cleared 

Her  skirts  of  border  outrages ;  and  reared 
By  daring  hands,  the  settler's  cabin  stood, 
By  every  stream  and  in  the  mighty  wood; 
Since  labor  found  in  plenty's  arms  repose  — 
This  strong  avenger  of  his  race  arose; 
And  vindicating,  or  for  woe  or  weal 
The  red-man's  homes,  unsheathed  the  battle 

steel, 
And  made  the  foe  his  bloody  logic  feel. 

He  saw  'neath  mammon's  desecrating  tread 
The  turf-green  dwellings  of  his  sacred  dead. 
The  forest  sachem,  and  the  honored  sire, 
No  more,  within  their  homes  awoke  the  fire 
Of  burning  council  in  the  savage  breast; 
His  sun  had  sunk  forever  in  the  West. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


53 


His  native  streams  to  him  with  sadness  mourned, 
His  fleet  canoe  was  from  its  moorings  turned, 
His  squaws  and  children  bade  their  fields  adieu, 
To  starving  on  an  unknown  way  pursue; 
And  armed  aggression  followed  where  they  flew. 
Oh!  who  can  then  approach  the  chieftain's 

shade, 

With  aught  but  honor,  e'en  tho'  he  was  made 
To  tear  his  heart  from  ev'ry  tend'rer  tie, 
And  to  loved  ones  with  hostile  succor  fly? 
Great    hero,  peace!  Thou    and    thy  thousand 

braves, 

Too  weak  to  stand,  too  proud  to  e'er  be  slaves, 
On  valor's  lips,  shall  to  the  list'ning  years 
Be  told :  and  urned  in  woman's  love  and  tears, 
Thy  name  to  time's  remote  end  carried  down, 
Shall  treasured  be  and  claimed  by  high  Renown. 
Young  morn  returning  from  his  Eastern  tour, 
Along  the  mountains  chased  a  dainty  show'r; 
The  vap'rous  slumbers  of  the  valleys  broke, 
And  to  the  fields  her  sweetest  greeting  spoke. 
Then,  in  a  gate  that  looked  from  Dearborn  West, 
Sir  Maxey  stood,  and  thus  his  soul  exprest: 
"  My  Dora!  Oh,  my  Dora!  Where  is  she? 
Torn  from  my  care,  oh  God  how  can  it  be ! 
To  pine  away  in  desert  wastes  and  die, 
Or  feed  the  lusts  that  fire  the  savage  eye. 
My  only  Dora!     Would  I  ne'er  had  been; 
Or  that  I  never  had  my  daughter  seen! 
Oh,  my  life's  flower,  doomed  to  droop  and  faint, 
Where  ling'ring  exile  mocks  thy  sad  complaint! 
Bereavements  had  poured  out  my  grief  in  full 
And  gave  me  sorrow  from  a  ghastly  skull; 
When  from  my  side,  the  one  who  shared  my 

cares, 

Thy  mother,  helpmeet  of  so  many  years  — 
Was  borne  away,  my  home  to  light  no  more ! 
E'en  then  Hope  whispered  of  a  sainted  shore. 
But   tongueless  sits  Despair  now  plumed  with 

dole, 

And  strikes  her  painful  beak  into  my  soul! 
When  something  to  my  sad  heart  seems  to  say, 
"  *  Thy  Dora  pines  in  Forest  wilds  away.'  " 

Two  captains  who  upon  their  steeds  had  sate, 
And  heard  him  thus  lamenting  in  the  gate ; 
Now  putting  spurs,  together  eager  cry : 
"  Withhold  thy  woeful  'plaint,  where  chivalry 
Will  test  its  strength.    Say  to  us,  aye,  oh  Sire, 
And  we,  rescue  her  ere  the  day  expire." 

11  Aye,"  cries  Sir  Maxey,  "  hear  a  father's  vows ; 
Who  rescues  Dora,  hath  her  for  a  spouse, 
And  purse  of  gold  besides.    Now,  Westward  fly, 


And  haste  thy  search,  for  we  have  this  surety, 
Of  him,  the  only  one  who  'scaped  the  foe, 
Her  captors  on  a  Westward  way  did  go." 

Swift  as  the  shadows  of  a  flying  cloud, 

From  Dearborn  forth  now   rode  the    soldiers 

proud; 

But  ere  their  morn  of  glory  had  begun, 
High  in  their  sky,  appeared  a  brighter  sun. 
Rodney  came  leading  Dora  from  the  wood, 
And  in  their  presence  like  a  vision  stood. 

They  reined  their  steeds,  they  made  a  martial 

bow; 

On  Rodney  gazed,  awed  by  his  valiant  brow ; 
Glanced  then  at  Dora,  and  together  sighed : 
"  Whose  she  shall  be,  the  future  must  decide!" 
But  ere  their  admiration  found  a  tongue, 
She   passed   from   view   the    spreading   trees 

among. 

"  My  life  no  more  embraces  pure  delight," 
Sighs  one,  "  With  that  fair  maiden  out  of  sight ! ' » 
The  other  echoes:  "  My  life's  joy  is  o'er, 
If  I  must  see  that  beauty  rare  no  more!" 
"But,"  then  the  other  mourns,   "her  father 

vows, 

That  who  rescues  her  hath  her  for  a  spouse ! 
Then,  if  the  valiant  task  hath  now  been  done 
By  yon  stern  slave,  eclipsed  must  be  our  sun." 
"  A  slave  contend,"  his  friend  indignant  spoke, 
"  In  love's  fair  lists,  and  wear  a  master's  yoke ! 
A  servant  dog,  a  stalwart  negro  clown, 
Unhorse  a  knight,  the  queen  of  love  to  crown? 
Nay,  thanks  to  Jove,  the  negro's  proper  sphere, 
Is  by  him  willfully  abandoned  ne'er, 
His  longings  suited  to  his  station  are ; 
For  faithfulness  he  craves  a  master's  care, 
And  craves  no  more ;  he  stoops  a  bashful  face 
From  azure  looks  and  love's  white-arm'd  em- 
brace. 

Born  to  be  ruled,  kind  nature  seals  his  breast 
'Gainst  Cupid's   darts    and    Hymen's    visions 

blest. 

In  him  ambition's  merest  insolence, 
And  chivalry  is  brazen  impudence." 
"  Between  us  then,"  the  other  aptly  cries, 
"  The  open  list  of  flow'ry  conquest  lies, 
And  let  the  gods  award  the  lovely  prize." 

Now,  Dora  turning  from  the  perilous  wild, 
Ran  to  a  waiting  father's  long  embrace, 
And  kissed  the  streams  of  joy  from  his  face. 
Brave  Dearborn  shouted  o'er  the  rescued  child, 


54 


NOT    A   MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN. 


And  loud  rejoicings  from  the  cannon's  throat, 
Rolled  o'er  the  wastes  and  shook  the  hills  re- 
mote. 

Round  after  round  the  cheering  bugles  sung, 
Old  Solitude  for  once  had  found  a  tongue, 
And  spoke  responsive  her  retreats  among. 
All  day  the  eyes  of  pleasure  sparkled  bright, 
Around  the  evening  hearth  the  news  gave  light; 
The  hand  of  valor,  beauty's  fair  hand  shook, 
And  joy  beamed  forth  in  age's  sober  look. 
The  tragic  fate  of  Saville  hindered  not, 
So  much  was  sorrow  in  their  mirth  forgot. 

THE  SLAVE  PEN. 

Lo  I  where  yon  gloomy  walls  ascend  on  high ; 
Whose  dismal  windows  meet  the  passing  eye, 
Where  Memphis  rises  in  her  steepled  pride, 
And  gazes  on  the  Mississippi's  tide ; 
Where  Memphis,  robed  in  glittering  wealth  doth 

rise, 
The  boast  of  Tennessee,  the  pride  of  Southern 

skies. 
Turn  there  thy  steps,  thou  who  hast  wandered 

long 
Thro*  life's    sad  ways,    and   by  the  haunts  of 

song; 
Thou  who  hast  heard  of    mammon  hardened 

souls, 
Who  drank   their   pleasures    from  enchanted 

bowls; 

Thou  who  hast  heard  of  Slavery's  grinding  car, 
Mounted  by  Crime,  and  dragged  by  fiends  of 

war; 
And   followed  by  gaunt   Famine   whose  grim 

hand 

Compels  submission  from  a  trembling  land ; 
Turn  there  thy  tread.    Thou  who  hast  heard  or 

read 

Of  virtue  chained  to  lust's  infamous  bed ; 
Pause  at  the  door  I    The  keeper  comes !    Ah !  I 

hear 

His  footsteps  on  the  stony  floor  draw  near! 
The  harsh   key  grates,  bolts  move  oppressed  I 

feel, 

The  prison  opens  wide  its  gate  of  steel; 
And  in  the  Hell  of  Slavery  aghast  I  reel. 

Among  the  sable  inmates  now  I  wend 
My  way,  and  they  in  fervent  aspect  bend 
Their    faces   in    the    dust,    cry,    "  Massa!  " 

"Lord I  " 
But  their  sorrowful  eyes  speak  more  than  cry  or 

word. 


They  fain  would  kiss    their  keeper's  smiting 

hand, 

Pursue  his  way,  or  round  him  suppliant  stand. 
Ah!  Christian,  canst  thou  bear  it?    Turn  thine 

eyes 

To  where  yon  sorrow  burdened  mother  lies ! 
She  upward  looks ;  her  bitter  anguish,  see  I 
Say  to  her,  "  Woman,  oh  what  aileth  thee?" 
And  thou  shalt  hear  through  tears  the  answer 

sad, 

"  They've  sold  away  the  only  child  I  had ; 
Her  eyes  were  bright,  and  blue  as  Summer's 

skies! 
And  oh,  my  sweet  faced  darling!"    loud  sh« 

cries, 

"  My  babel  My  dear,  when  only  two  years  old 
Was  from  my  bosom  torn  away  by  cold 
And  cruel  hands  —  oh  how  I  hear  her  cry  — 
And  she  without  a  mother's  care  must  die! 
Behold  that  mother,  Christian,  she  is  hushed 
By  her  stern  keeper's  glance,  e'en  though  her 

heart  is  crushed. 
And  round  her  see  hoar  age  from  friendship 

torn, 

And  from  the  goodly  scenes  where  he  was  born  f 
Burdened  with  grief,  he  leans  toward  the  grave, 
And  drags  his  chains,  a  poor  unpitied  slave. 
This  is  the  slave  pen,  ah!  this  is  the  place 
Where  boasting  Slav'ry  drives  the  sable  race, 
To  wait,  as  trembling  sheep  the  slaughter  wait, 
Their  buyer's  entrance  at  yon  iron  gate ! 
Here  tender  hands  of  tearful  remonstrance, 
Entreating  age's  humble  upward  glance, 
The  bitter  outbursts  of  the  grief  torn  heart, 
The  infant's  cry,  from  parent  arms  apart, 
The  maniac's  wail  and  gaunt  armed  hunger's 

sigh, 

That  e'en  might  fill  with  tears  a  demon's  eye 
Cannot  in  man's  cold  heart,  awaken  sympathy  1 

Ah,  Tennessee,  hast  thou  a  Hermitage, 
Where  dwel'st  a  laureled  hero  and  a  sage? 
Great  sage !  Proud  leader  of  the  daring  band, 
Who  loosed  red  havoc  on  a  trembling  land 
At    Blount's  poor   fort,  till    hardy   sea-worm 

tars, 

With  crime  acquainted,  and  athirst  for  wars, 
Withdrew  with  heads  hung  from  the  scenes  of 

blood, 

Or  e'er  the  mangled  inmates  weeping  stood! 
Let  silence  set  her  seal  upon  thy  mouth, 
And  hush  thy  boasts,  Oh!  vain  Chivalric  South! 
Thou  may'st  forget  that  from  their  brake-bound 

seat, 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN. 


55 


As  brave,   true  hearts,  as  e'er    with  freedom 

beat, 
Were  dragged  in  chains  to  pine,  by  Slavery's 

laws, 
Or  chased  by  bloodhounds,  from  whose  gaping 

jaws 

Dropped  human  gore,  to  stain  the  sacred  soil 
That  bloomed  with  cheer  beneath  their  honest 

toil  I 

Thou  may'st  forget,  In  a  repentant  soul, 
The  wigwams  of  the  wasted  Seminole; 
And  to  the  world's  great  temple,  and  the  shrine 
Of  freedom  bring  thy  offerings  divine. 
But  God  is  just,  and  time  will  surely  tell, 
That  truth  and  justice  in  the  earth  shall  dwell 

Lo!  where  yon  whirling  to  and  fro 

Of  men  in  business  tide,  doth  so 

Intoxicate  with  eagerness ; 

There  in  the  swirl  of  voices  hear, 

The  hoarse  cry  of  the  auctioneer! 

"Agoing!  going!  "  rises  clear, 

While  crowds  of  anxious  list'ners  press, 

And  doubt  and  curse,  and  rave  and  guess ; 

The  speculator  in  the  face 

Of  business  looks :  his  quick  eyes  trace 

The  way  of  vantage,  and  he'll  make 

A  fortune,  or  a  fortune  break. 

Suspense  with  trembling  speech  is  heard, 

For  now  the  crier,  word  by  word, 

Sinks  lower,  lower,  "  going,  gone," 

The  bargain's  closed,  the  work  is  done; 

And  now  he  calls  another  one. 

There,  rising  as  the  wave-dashed  rock, 

Firm  in  his  tow'ring  scorn; 

There,  standing  on  the  buyer's  block, 

See  that  sad  form,  but  not  forlorn; 

In  other  climes  was  he  not  born? 

Yes,  where  the  Western  forests  spread 

Their  green  luxuriance  o'er  the  head 

Of  honest  labor,  and  the  sound 

Of  rural  sports,  the  long  year  round, 

Is  heard  along  the  rustic's  way; 

He  once  hath  known  a  better  day. 

There  where  industry  with  strong  arms 

Hath  in  the  forests  hewn  out  farms, 

And  in  the  vale  his  pastures  spread, 

And  flocks  upon  the  mountains 

Full  harvests  reaped  upon  the  hills, 

And  in  the  valleys  built  his  mills ; 

There,  once  he  mingled,  true  and  brave, 

A  home-guard  loved,  and  faithful  slave. 

'Tis  Saville's  Rodney,  Dora's  friend, 


A  faithful  servant  to  the  end. 
And  do  you  ask  why  he  is  sold? 
I  answer,  then  you  shall  behold. 


CANTO  IT. 

IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  AYLOBS. 

Where  Summer  crowns  with  orange  blooms 

The  land  of  pines  and  cypress  glooms; 

We  wander  forth  by  field  and  lane, 

In  woody  shades  with  plaintive  strain. 

Ye  lonely  bayous  catch  the  sound! 

Ye  languid  fen-brakes  pass  it  round; 

Ye  pensive  hills  your  silence  break, 

And  let  the  mournful  echo  wake! 

Of  errant  Pride's  chivalric  deeds, 

Of  frowning  Caste's  unholy  creeds, 

And  their  worse  sin-begotten  heir, 

Black  Slavery,  a  lay  I  bring, 

And  of  her  painted  crimes  shall  sing. 

When  Satan  hurled  out  from  the  skies, 
O'er  this  terrene  his  fallen  eyes 
In  search  of  ruin  hotly  cast, 
Hell-bound,  and  harm-bent  to  the  last ; 
Those  shores  of  ours,  where  Mexic's  Sea 
Holds  watch  with  the  Atlantic,  he 
Touched  not  in  his  tremendous  flight; 
For,  stooping  there,  the  sons  of  light 
He  spied  encamped  in  battle  form 
Around  a  captive  ocean  storm, 
From  which  his  equinoctial  bent, 
Wheeled  short,  and  further  northward  went. 

Sweet  land  1  conceived  in  chivalry, 
Brought  forth  in  wild  adventure,  reared 
In  conquest's  arms,  to  rivalry 
And  old  ambitions  long  endeared ! 
The  fairest  of  thy  sister  train, 
And  fairer  than  thy  mother  Spain, 
Thou  art  of  all  the  world,  a  lone, 
Lone  beauty  of  the  fragrant  zone. 
Thy  sisters  in  their  lurid  North 
Surpass  in  wealth  but  not  in  worth; 
More  native  grace  hast  thou  than  they, 
Less  wrathful  winds  and  winters  gray. 
Thou  hast  no  somber-low'ring  skies, 
In  which  the  white-winged  tempest  flies; 
When  shiv'ring  woods  and  fields  bewail, 
Their  cheerless  and  forlorn  state, 
All  riven  by  the  angry  gale, 
Like  beggars  howling  at  your  gate. 


56 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


But  such  thy  Northern  sisters  know, 
Amid  their  sullen  wastes  of  snow, 
And  hills  as  cheerless  as  the  tomb, 
And  silent  plains  of  leaden  gloom. 
But  girdled  in  thy  summer  zone, 
As  a  maid  who  waits  her  lover, 
Or  to  meet  him  walks  alone 
Under  twilight's  dewy  cover, 
Thou  dost  always  meet  each  year, 
Ever  smiling,  never  drear. 
And  can  it  be,  that  thou,  sun-girdled  land, 
Could  foster  slavery  with  a  jealous  hand? 
Yea,  when  less  comely  States  had  seen  the  stain, 
Of  crimson  guilt  upon  their  garments  plain, 
They  shook  the  galling  traffic  from  the  clutch 
Of  commerce,  and  forbade  her  further  such. 
But  thou,  when  banished  Slavery  left  the  North, 
In  wretchedness  and  shame  to  wander  forth, 
A  heartless  strumpet,  seeking  e'en  a  shed, 
Thou  then  did'st  take  her  in  and  share  thy  bed ! 
Of  him  whose  valor  first  inspired  our  strain, 
A  slave  to  Aylor  bound  we  sing  again. 
The  shady  woodlands  of  his  native  West, 
To  him  are  not :  in  richer  verdure  drest, 
A  fairer  aspect  Florida  presents, 
But  not  more  pleasure ;  that  which  most  con- 
tents 

A  noble  mind,  the  liberty  to  dare, 
And  act  the  man,  he  now  no  more  can  share. 
To  him  what  are  luxuriant  verdure's  sweets, 
And  cypress  shades,  and  orange-bloom 'd  re- 
treats; 
"When  for  once  dear  delights  his  heart  now 

hopeless  beats? 
Lo !  where  yon  hedge-bound  fields  beyond  the 

way, 

Wave  on  the  view  exuberantly  gay, 
Exulting  in  their  flow'ry  excellence, 
And  holding  in  their  green  embrace,  a  dense 
Deep  grove  of  sturdy  pines  whose  solemn  shade, 
Has  o'er  delicious  seats  a  curtain  made ; 
There  stood  the  Aylor  house,  when  in  its  prime, 
A  brave  old  structure  of  that  princely  time, 
When  rank  and  title  held  unquestioned  sway, 
And  humble  worth  to  family  pride  gave  way. 
How  often  have  some,  turning  to  its  bowers, 
In  dreams  sat  down  and  wasted  pleasant  hours. 
How  often  traced  its  various  changing  scenes 
Of  blossom'd  fields,  bright  lanes,  and  rolling 

greens ! 

This  goodly  mansion  hath  an  olden  fame, 
And  memories  that  urn  full  many  a  name 
In  honors  bright  and  not  a  few  in  shame. 
Here  hoary  tenants,  who  in  turn  await 


Their  scanty  pensions  at  a  master's  gate ; 
These,  and  full  many  an  ebon  patriarch, 
Of  Afric's  humble  tribe,  who  wear  the  mark 
Of  bondage,  tell  in  tales  of  cabin  lore, 
Sad  things  that  run  the  eye  with  pity  o'er. 
The  cabin  dance,  the  banjo  and  the  song, 
Are  courted  yet  by  Afric's  humble  throng. 
They  drown  their  sorrow  in  a  stream  of  mirth, 
And  crush  their  cares  as  soon    as  they  find 

birth, 

'Neath  dance's  heel;  and  on  the  banjo  string 
A  theme  of  hope  that  forces  woe  to  sing. 
But  one  is  there,  to  them  a  stranger  born, 
Whose  manly  brow  the  marks  of  thought  adorn, 
The  low  inventions  of  poor  darkened  mind, 
Can  never  with  the  threads  of  nonsense  bind 
This  mental  Sampson ;  tho'  by  Slav'ry  shorn 
Of  rightful  manhood,  weakness  he  doth  scorn. 
The  abject  sons  of  Afric's  injured  race, 
With  cabin  sports  essay  to  cheer  his  face, 
But  all  in  vain;  their  silly  means  repel, 
Instead  of  please,  the  one  they  love  so  well. 
He's  with  them,  but  not  of  them;  for  the  light 
Of  freedom  flashing  on  him  from  her  hight 
Has  trained  him  out  of  Slav'ry's  bounds  to  ken 
The  walks  that  he  who  treads  will  long  to  tread 

again. 

All  day  he  labors,  speaking  scarce  a  word; 
All  night  lamenting  in  yon  groves  is  heard. 
His  ear  no  more  the  torrent's  voice  shall  woo, 
In  deep  shades  musing  long,  orwand'ringthro*. 
His  winding  horn  no  more  shall  urge  the  chase, 
Where  the  deep  Wabash  doth  his  woods  em- 
brace! 

No  more  the  flying  stag  shall  dash  the  spray, 
And  bend  the  hawthorn  from  his  mountain  way; 
And  in  the  blossom'd  fields  of  yellow  sedge, 
In  thickets  brown,  or  in  the  briery  hedge, 
His  wary  spaniel  shall  no  longer  spring, 
Nor  whirring  grouse,   nor  partridge  swift  to 

Wing! 

His  fields  are  gone !    Farewell  ye  sports  of  yore! 
Ye  goodly  seats  on  Mississippi's  shore ! 
And  home  is  gone  I    All  that  makes  labor  sweet— 
His  hearth  is  darkened  where  he  once  did  meet 
Bright  chirping  mirth  around  hoar  comfort's 

feet. 

No  loving  eye  shall  on  his  threshold  wait, 
No  little  footfalls  meet  him  in  the  gate ! 
No  faithful  dog  shall  now  to  meet  him  come, 
And  leap    and  wag  and  tongue    his  welcome 

home! 
Dear  Western  scenes,  a  tender  last   farewell!! 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


57 


Within  thy  bow'rs  no  more  shall  Rodney  dwell! ! 
Lo,  in  the  cane  and  cotton  far  away, 
He  bends  to  toil  thro'  all  the  sultry  day! 
And  on  in  life  a  weary  journey  takes 
Thro'  regions  where  no  hope's-light  ever  breaks. 
"  Oh,  God !  "  he  mourns  along  the  pensive  hills, 
"  The  rayless  gloom  that  now  my  bosom  fills  I 
My  life  ends  here!  existence  tho',  may  creep 
Some  further  on,  while  life's  ambitions  sleep!  ?> 

Thus,  all  night  once,  alone  he  sighed, 

In  lanes  and  fields  and  forests  wide, 

And  strolling  on,  was  lost  from  view, 

A  deep  dense  pine  shade  wand'ring  thro'. 

There,  where  a  bright  stream  leaping  down  ward, 

Moaned  o'er  falls  and  rambled  onward,  — 

Like  a  waywardness  of  childhood, 

Or  a  wild  dream,  —  thro'  the  wildwood, 

And  within  a  distant  recess 

Of  the  forest's  leafy  stillness, 

Where  the  deep  boughs  stoop'd  and  listened, 

And  the  waters  flashed  and  glistened, 

Formed  a  fountain  clear,  still,  blue,  deep, 

In  whose  breast  heaved  Beauty  asleep ; 

There,  while  morn  was  just  awaking, 

Slumbers  from  her  eye-lids  shaking, 

And  her  mountain  stillness  breaking, 

With  her  first  sweet  music  making; 

There,  with  eyes  upon  the  ground  bent, 

Yet  he  onward  mourning  slow  went, 

All  the  waking  woods  were  merry, 

But  his  heavy  heart  was  dreary. 

Thus  in  deepest  shades  he  wandered, 

Where  this  wild  strange  stream  meandered ; 

Knowing  not,  in  his  sad  musing 

Where  he  went,  blindly  not  choosing 

This  or  that  path,  as  he  went  on 

With  his  eyes  the  ground  still  bent  on, 

In  his  heavy  soul  he  muttered  — 

These  words  pensively  he  uttered: 

"  Ah  I  bleak  Norway's  churl  may  feel  not 

To  complain  against  his  cold  lot, 

When  he  never  knew  a  better; 

And  the  naked  son  of  Af  ric, 

Led  about  from  youth  to  manhood, 

In  his  desert  haunt  and  wildwood; 

By  the  bloody  hand  of  Traffic, 

May  not  groan  to  wear  a  fetter; 

But  to  him  whose  soul  doth  cherish 

Longings  that  can  never  perish, 

Who  his  arms  in  fetters  galling 

Feels,  while  liberty  is  calling 

To  her  citadel  before  him, 

With  her  bright  skies  bending  o'er  him; 


But  to  him,  how  hard  the  fate  is! 

Ah,  to  him  how  dark  the  state  is ! 

Earth  her  every  pleasure  loses 

To  his  eyes,  and  hope  refuses 

All  attempts  to  mount  on  high, 

To  her  dwelling  in  the  sky." 

While  thus  he  mourned  in  his  sad  plight, 

Hard  by  his  way,  deep  out  of  sight, 

A  sudden  noisy  stir  he  heard, 

Of  many  a  flapping  bongh  and  bird. 

He  upward  glanced  a  hurried  eye, 

When  thro'  the  parting  branches  nigh, 

Upon  the  brooklet's  other  side, 

A  living  beauty,  lo  he  spied! 

In  native  sweetness  clothed,  she  stood 

And  all  her  fair  proportions  viewed 

With  fawn-like  timidness.    She  deemed 

Herself  unseen,  but  watchful  seemed 

Alone  within  her  soft  retreat, 

The  liquid  mirror  at  her  feet 

Keturned  her  beauty  to  her  eyes, 

Till,  warmed  with  innocent  surprise, 

She  stood  admiring.    Now  her  hand, 

As  graceful  as  a  fairy's  wand, 

She  waved  above  the  prattling  stream; 

Then  gentle  as  a  reaper's  dream, 

She  shook  down  raven  clouds  of  hair, 

In  wild  confusion  on  the  air 

And  on  the  brink  an  Instant  stood 

A  sweet  young  Eve  of  womanhood. 

In  deeper  shades  she  now  withdrew, 

But  Rodney's  feasting  eyes  pursue ; 

There,  half  concealed,  she  looks  more  fair 

And  seems  alarmed  at  e'en  the  air, 

That  scarcely  breathe  upon  her  there. 

******* 

A  stolen  glance  at  her  fair  parts, 

Stripped  Rodney's  bosom  to  the  darts 

Thai  Cupid's  cunning  strength  let  fly ; 

He  wounded  turned  his  dazzled  eye, 

He  sighed  for  breath,  his  bosom  held, 

To  hush  its  leapings  as  it  swelled ; 

He  shut  his  eyes  to  look  no  more, 

But  looked,  worse  wounded  than  before. 

He  thought  to  turn  and  steal  away, 

And  thought,  and  thought,  but  yet  did  stay. 

Her  beauty  like  a  rising  moon, 

Among  the  clouds  uncovered,  soon 

Appeared  as  fair  as  e'er  was  seen 

That  lovely  orb  green  hills  between. 

Then,  step  by  step  on  tip-toe  poise 

She  stole,  and  ev'ry  little  noise 

To  her  had  eyes.    Back  she  withdrew 

Into  the  shade,  and  now  in  view 


58 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A    MAN. 


Again  in  all  her  beauty  rose, 

And  full  and  clear  stood  listening,  close 

Upon  the  brink,  where  grasses  sweet 

And  blushing  flow'rets  kissed  her  feet. 

The  purling  waves  that  played  below, 

With  am'rous  descant  in  their  flow, 

With  all  the  music  of  their  speech 

The  maid  to  tarry  did  beseech. 

A  moment  gazing  on  the  flood 

In  Eve-like  innocence  she  stood, 

And  watched  her  perfect  image  there ; 

While  lost  within  her  flowing  hair 

Her  small  hand  rambled.    She  had  now 

Plunged  in  the  panting  stream  below; 

Had  not  the  sudden  thickets  stirred. 

The  breathless  maiden,  shrinking  heard 

Some  farmer's  lad,  on  errand  soon, 

Towards  her  pipe  his  morning  tune. 

Quick  as  the  lark,  that  song-hushed  darts, 

When  her  still  brush  some  footstep  parts, 

She  threw  on  robes  and  out  of  sight 

Within  the  thick  boughs  took  her  flight. 

Rodney  pursued,  not  knowing  why, 

Tho*  oft  to  turn  back  he  would  try. 

A  power  in  his  feet  that  drew 

Resistless  as  the  wind  that  blew, 

Kept  him  a  going,  fast  or  slow, 

And  where  or  how,  he  did  not  know. 

Glance  after  glance  his  dazzled  view, 

Worse  dazzled  as  the  maiden  flew 

Beyond  him,  and  as  on  he  bent, 

He  knew  not  what  his  bosom  meant, 

In  drinking  breath  on  breath  so  fast, 

And  being  out  of  breath  at  last. 

But  now  his  secret  pleasure  turned  •, 

Ah !  in  the  distance  he  discerned 

His  master  skipping  onward  too, 

To  keep  the  coy  sight  on  his  view. 

Then,  Rodney  turned  and  stole  away, 

And  toiling,  mourned  the  live  long  day; 

But  Mosher  Aylor,  stern  as  fate, 

Pursued,  till  thro'  the  Brentfords'  gate 

He  saw  the  beauty  pass  from  sight, 

Like  some  sweet  vision  of  the  night. 

Now  Aylor  passed  a  wretched  day, 

And  night's  hours  went  their  wingless  way. 

On  all  his  house  he  closed  his  door, 

And  in  a  frenzy  paced  the  floor. 

With  hands  behind  him  clasped  he  stood, 

Or  leaning,  sat  in  sullen  mood, 

And  sighed,  and  groaned,  and  raved  with  pain, 

And  rose  and  paced  the  floor  again 

Till  midnight's  silence  reigned  around, 

His  discontent  had  reached  no  bound; 


From  his  vexed  sea  he  saw  no  shore, 

He  never  had  thus  felt  before. 

His  wonted  bowl  for  him  had  lost 

Its  deep  oblivion  and  crost 

By  broken  dreams,  his  fevered  breast, 

Refused  the  arms  of  balmy  rest. 

In  this  sad  plight,  a  hideous  cheer 

Before  him  stood !    The  haggard  seer 

Of  Aylor's  shrine  of  wickedness, 

Has  heard  the  accents  of  distress, 

That  broke  night's  stillness,  and  has  comt, 

To  move  the  trouble  burdensome. 

Now  Aylor  spoke,  when  him  he  saw, 

On  whom  he  long  had  looked  with  awe ; 

"HereMicahl  Micah!  Micah!  here! 

To  my  complaint,  come  lend  an  ear. 

This  morning  as  I  strolled  the  wood, 

Deep  thro'  yon  cypress  solitude; 

Where  shores  of  sweetest  green  ascend, 

And  thick  boughs  o'er  the  waters  bend ; 

Fair  as  the  light,  I  saw  a  maid 

Unclothe  her  beauty  in  the  shade. 

I  never  felt  a  sting  so  bright: 

I  ne'er  saw  such  an  earthly  sight. 

Not  radiant  May  with  her  perfumes, 

And  songs,  and  show'rs,  and  fragrant  glooms, 

And  streams  of  crystal  cheerfulness, 

Could  vie  with  her  in  loveliness, 

But,  like  a  bird  of  gorgeous  hue, 

She  vanished  on  my  starving  view!" 

"Aye,"  cries  the  seer,  "  no  doubt  have  I, 

That  the  same  bird  which  you  saw  fly, 

Is  the  fair  Creole  visiting 

At  neighbor  Brentford's  watering. 

She  is  a  slave,  a  waiting  maid, 

Brought  down  from  New  Orleans,  'tis  said. " 

' 'A  slave!  a  waiting  maid !  a  queen 

Why  don't  you  say;  for  ne'er  was  seen 

A  fairer  cheek  of  Saxon  hue 

Nor  prouder  eye  of  brilliant  blue. 

Phoo,  pshaw!  a  slave!  a  waiting  maid! 

That  light-beam  sweet  from  Heaven  strayed?" 

The  Seer  replies:  "A  slave  I  know! 

And  can  be  bought  as  I  shall  show. 

Dispel  the  phantoms  of  thy  brain, 

And  turn  to  thy  right  mind  again ; 

You  must  be  sick ! "    "  No,"  Aylor  cries, 

14  I'm  dead  in  love!  "    The  seer  replies, 

"  Go  pass  in  rest  this  far  spent  night, 

And  by  the  time  young  morn's  in  sight, 

I'll  bring  the  news  to  set  thee  right." 

Now,  Aylor  half  consoled,  adjourned 
His  thoughts  till  morn,  and  then  returned 


"THE  COW  BELL." 

"  When  the  last  of  glimmering  twilight 
O'er  behind  the  forest  fell." 

"  Drifted  Leaves:'—  Page  88. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN. 


With  Micah,  to  the  Brentford  seat, 
The  owners  of  the  maid  to  meet. 

The  room  was  darkened  where  they  met, 

And  all  was  quiet,  save  the  fret 

Of  restless  boughs,  and  whiip'ring  leaves, 

That  mingle  o'er  the  ancient  eaves. 

Now  Ay  lor  speaks,  "  For  goldl  for  gold! 

Aye,  you  but  say  she  will  be  sold, 

And  you  shall  have  your  price  all  told." 

Awed  by  the  speaker's  fiery  eye, 

The  strangers  whisper  this  reply: 

"  If  her  we  sell,  of  this  beware, 

She  must  receive  your  special  care, 

Not  as  a  slave  of  low  degree, 

But  as  a  ward  descended  free. 

And  this  day's  doings,  ever  keep 

From  earth  a  secret  hidden  deep; 

For  should  the  news  by  any  means, 

Escape  you  and  reach  New  Orleans, 

And  come  to  our  old  father's  ears, 

'Twill  grieve  away  his  few  frail  years. 

Know  this,  he  loves  Leeona  more 

Than  all  his  children  ten  times  o'er. 

His  frailty  has  a  passion  grown, 

And  each  day  more  his  love  has  shown, 

Till  she  has  to  us  all  become 

The  bane  of  pleasure,  hope  and  home  — 

The  idol  of  his  feeble  days, 

The  object  ever  of  his  praise. 

Here  to  this  wat'ring  near  your  home, 

He  with  reluctance  let  her  come. 

Now  from  her  keep  the  fact  concealed, 

That  she  is  sold ;  for  if  revealed, 

She'll  pine  away,  and  droop  and  die, 

Or  from  your  house  attempt  to  fly. 

By  wary  speech,  the  truth  we'll  mask, 

If  our  aged  father  ask ; 

"What  had  befall'n  me?  Where's  my  dear? 

Why  hast  thou  left  my  Ona  there?" 

This  said,  they  drew  aside  and  spake, 

Concerning  what  price  they  should  take ; 

And  when  agreed,  they  answered  bold ; 

"Three  thousand  dollars  down  in  gold!" 

And  Aylor  with  triumphant  eyes, 

Threw  them  their  gold  and  seized  his  prize. 

With  trembling  hands  they  count  their  gains, 

In  haste  divide  with  heartfelt  pains ; 

For  well  they  know  a  sister's  tears, 

And  sweat  and  blood,  their  purses  fill. 

Ah  I  well  they  know  a  sister's  years, 

Must  now  drag  onward  at  the  will 

Of  him  who  with  a  shameless  cheek, 


To  buy  the  hand  of  love  would  seek. 
The  offspring  of  a  father's  crimes, 
The  bitter  fruit  of  broken  vows, 
The  charming  bloom  of  hapless  climes, 
The  growth  of  unprotected  boughs ; 
Within  the  grasp  of  blighting  lust, 
A  lovely  ruin  now  is  thrust. 
What  tho'  a  father's  heart  shall  break, 
In  spite  of  race  Caste,  taught  to  ache, 
And  yearn  thro'  age's  kinder  years, 
For  those  to  whom  Nature  endears ! 
What  tho'  he  wakes  with  deepest  groans, 
What  tho'  his  sleep  with  anguish  moans? 
When  his  first  sorrow's  bitter  blast 
By  soothing  words  is  guided  past, 
His  law-owned  brood  will  run  at  last 
Their  race  in  peace ;  tho'  doomed  by  spite, 
A  sister  thro'  the  stormy  night 
Of  bondage  mourn,  a  sad  sad  sight. 
What  tho'  his  grief  shall  bow  his  head, 
And  while  from  view  all  pleasures  sink ; 
He  of  a  Quadroon's  injured  bed, 
In  age's  twilight  stand  to  think? 
What  tho'  he  weep  beside  her  grave? 
Society  will  whisper  "Slave!" 

His  love  was  wayward,  and  his  wing, 
Waved  wand'ringly  in  life's  warm  Spring* 
He  saw  the  Quadroon,  and  they  loved  — 
He  and  Leeona's  mother,  moved 
Liked  sounds  of  some  wild  instrument 
Touched  by  the  wind,  and  sweetly  blent 
Their  lives  in  lasting  pleasurement. 
But  Dame  Caste  turned  her  iron  face, 
And  coldly  frowned  upon  their  course ; 
Drove  gentle  love  from  faith's  embrace, 
With  all  the  heartlessness  of  force. 

'Twas  thus  by  social  interest's  sullen  voice, 
Another's  hand,  was  made  to  be  his  choice. 
And  thus  it  is  that  many  a  love  has  grown, 
Where  even  Christians  dare  make  it  known. 
Where  Hymen  oft  most  gorgeous  aspect  shows, 
From  true  love  blossoms  not  a  single  rose ; 
While  out  in  fenceless  wastes  of  Nature  spring, 
Discovered  only  in  wild  wandering, 
The  purest   blooms    of   love,  whose  fragrant 

breath, 
Live  thro'  all  life  and  linger  after  death. 

A  sister's  life  is  signed  away, 
Her  brothers  can  no  longer  stay 
To  see  her  drink  the  bitter  cup, 
Which  they  with  sorrows  have  filled  up. 


60 


NOT   A   MAN,   AND   YET   A   MAN. 


Leeona  kisses  them  good-bye, 

Regards  them  with  a  tearful  eye, 

And  long  entreats  them  to  make  known, 

Why  she  must  there  be  left  alone. 

And  then  sweet  as  the  fair-eyed  dawn, 

When  light  first  sparkles  on  the  lawn, 

She  meekly  looked  in  Aylor's  face ; 

And  artless  as  a  timid  fawn, 

With  all  of  innocence's  grace, 

She  placed  a  trusting  hand  in  his, 

As  pure  as  a  white  lily  is, 

And  gently  followed,  till  from  view 

Within  the  Aylor  seat  they  now  withdrew. 

Now  twilight  waned  and  evening  still, 

Darkened  the  vales,  while  from  each  hill 

Around  came  soft  and  lulling  sounds. 

From  just  beyond  the  vision's  bounds, 

One  voice  was  heard  most  sweet  of  all, 

But  pensive  as  a  late  rain's  fall 

Through  Autumn  leaves  when  sad  and  lone 

The  fading  forests  make  their  moan. 

This  was  Leeona' s,  poor  girl  torn 

Away  from  childhood's  hopes  to  mourn. 

Aylor,  meanwhile  in  sullen  mood, 

On  his  piazza  list'ning,  stood 

Roving  thro'  mental  solitude. 

Full  well  he  knew  what  Ona  meant, 

By  her  sad  walks,  and  loud  lament, 

For  he  had  caused  it  all. 

His  overtures  of  stark  deceit, 

She'd  spurned  and  fled  to  this  retreat, 

To  whisper  in  her  Father's  ear, 

Complaints  He  ever  stoops  to  hear. 

So  Aylor  in  Remorse's  thrall, 

Walked  sullen  thro1  his  ghostly  hall, 

Within  a  nook  of  vine  shades  went, 

And  o'er  his  thoughts  in  silence  bent. 

In  Ona's  heart  though  sad,  there  burned 

A  hatred  deep  for  all  his  aims ; 

And  his  entreaties,  he  discerned, 

Were  winds  that  fanned  her  proud  heart's  flames. 

Ah!  what  were  Brazil's  spicy  breath, 

Or  India's  sweet  pride, 

If  life  were  blighted  with  a  death, 

That  dying  never  died? 

This  night  too,  Rodney  wand'red  forth  to  stroll, 
And  to  the  list'ning  groyes  impart  his  soul. 
The   rision  bright  that  charmed  his  wayward 

dream, 

Within  this  wood,  beside  the  peaceful  stream ; 
Returned  when  here  he  lingered.  Now  her  home 
To  make  at  Aylor's  she  a  slave  had  come, 


And  Rodney  knew  it  not;  for  by  caste  barred, 
He  could  not  pass  where  wrong  was  standing 

guard. 

But  love  hath  ways  that  are  past  finding  out, 
And  secret  triumphs,  that  how  brought  about, 
No  one  can  tell.    Love  hath  an  open  eye, 
And  watches  little  signs  that  others  would  pass 

by. 

"  I  saw  her  here,"  thought  Rodney  to  himself, 
"  'Twas  here  she  flitted  by  coy  as  an  elf, 
And  in  yon  boughs  her  disappearance  made, 
When  wanton  sounds  disturbed  the  morning 

shade. 

Could  I  but  tell  her.     Ah!  but  fate  forbids  I 
Poor  hope  can't  open  there  her  dazzled  lids. 
Yet  I  did  see  her,  oh,  I  saw  her  here ! 
And  in  my  dreams  she  still  doth  bright  appear. 
Thank  Heav'n  there's  none  too  crushed  by  wrong 

to  see, 

And  beauty's  the  beholder's  property." 
But  now  his  hope  thro'  darker  clouds  declines, 
And  thus  within  the  sounding  shade  he  pines : 
"  No  more  to  me  ere  life's  short  race  be  run, 
Shall  e'er  arise  another  happy  sun. 
How   shall   I  break  the   vision  bright  which 

wounds, 

And  drive  it  from  my  recollection's  bound ! 
Oh,  why  kind  Heaven,  plant  within  my  breast, 
A  blooming  sorrow  —  love  begot  unrest? 
Content  to  bear  tho'  let  me  journey  on, 
Light  yet  may  break  life's  dismal  waste  upon!" 
Thus  in  the  cypress  gloom,  he  poured  his  strain, 
And  homeward  turned  his  mournful  face  again. 

Eavesdropper  winds,  on  errands  from  the  South, 

In  elfin  sandals  and  with  dewy  mouth, 

To  Rodney  came  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 

The  broken  murmurs  of  a  sweet  yoice  near. 

A  maiden  sat  within  the  fragrant  shade, 

And  to  the  night  this  lamentation  made : 

"  This  life  is  all  unreal  as  a  dream, 

Here  woes   chase   woes,  like    waves   upon   a 

stream. 

Oh !  back,  within  the  happy  past  I  see 
A  bow'ry  home,  where  playmates  beckon  me, 
To   join  the   buoyant  throngs  of  childhood's 

train, 

And  tread  the  blossom' d  paths  of  hope  again. 
But  here  am  I,  away  from  home  and  friend, 
While  o'er  my  way  the  nights  of  trouble  bend, 
Strange  bodings  haunt  my  visions  in  the  night, 
And  day  with  terrors  fills  my  weary  sight. 
But,  whom  I  saw  last  eve  within  this  shade, 


NOT   A  MAN,    AND  YET  A  MAN. 


61 


Methought  had  by  this  time  another  advent 

made. 

A  strong  companion  of  a  troubled  heart, 
He  seemed ;  oh,  that  to  him  I  could  impart 
My  woes;  oh,  that  I  could  but  see  him  once!"— 

here 
She   raised  her  eyes,   and  lot   the  man  was 

near. 

Away  she  started,  frightened  from  the  place, 
With  red  abashment  kindling  in  her  face. 
Oh,  was  it  real,  could  all  this  be  true? 
Was  that  Leeona,  what  must  Rodney  do? 
"Stay,  maid!  "  he  cries,  "my  wounded   soul 

implores, 

Stay,  fair  one,  stay!  until  my  tongue  explores 
The  hidden  longings  of  a  leaping  heart; 
Hear  what  a  wounded  spirit  would  impart." 
Beyond  the  fence,  and  near  the  spring  lawn 

gate, 

Leeona  paused,  the  speaker's  steps  to  wait. 
With  timid  mein,  and  from  the  other  side, 
Now  Rodney  leans,  where  blossomed  vines  di- 
vide, 

And  gathers  words  with  anxious  haste  to  tell, 
The  blushing  beauty  that  he  loves  her  well. 
She  answers  with  a  sigh,  and  turns  away, 
And  with  her  flowing  locks  begins  to  play, 
Looks  up  again  to  speak  and  only  sighs, 
But  dazzles  with  the  language  of  her  eyes. 
There   Rodney   leans,  her   wee    shy   hand  to 

reach 

And  press,  that  he  may  aid  his  falt'ring  speech. 
Her  fingers  touch  him  with  a  conquering  thrill, 
Her  eyes  could  wound,  her  dainty  touch  can 

kill. 
He    murmured    something,   what,    no    mortal 

knew, 

And  pressed  the  gate  ajar,  and  stumbled  thro* ; 
And  as  Leeona  turned  and  skipped  away, 
He    whispered,    as    she    went,    "Oh!    angel, 

stay!" 
"Oh,  moon,   speed  on  thy  coming,"  then  he 

said, 

As  that  orb's  light  beheld  the  beauteous  maid, 
Walk  from  the  boughs  beneath  the  open  skies, 
And  flash  around  her  all-o'erpow'ring  eyes. 

Now  Rodney's   soul    new  realms  of  pleasure 

knew, 

And  Time's  face  brightened  as  he  onward  flew. 
All  sights  to  him  from  sadness  now  awake, 
For  him  the  forests  into  music  break, 
Thoughts  of  Leeona  speed  the  moments  by, 
And  they  with  pleasure  lighten  as  they  fly. 


His  life  was  now  a  dream,  in  which  care  lay 
Like  labor's  slumb'rous  body,  when  the  day 
To  night  and  rest  and  lulling  sounds  gives  way. 
Thus  many  a  day  his  burden  down  he  threw, 
And  half  the  pangs  of  slav'ry  never  knew. 
And  thus  it  is,  love  is  the  charm  of  life, 
Whate'er  the  station  and  whate'er  the  strife. 
Where'er  we  roam,  where'er  our  lot  be  cast, 
In  home's  sweet  shine,  or  in  the  raving  blast, 
Love  to  the  soul  a  ray  of  light  doth  bring, 
And  scatter  pleasures  from  his  hopeful  wing. 
His  advent  blesses  e'en  the  slave's  poor  shed 
And  sweetens  humblest  labor's  daily  bread. 
Without  thee  Love,  what  were  the  shepherd's 

reed? 

Without  thy  blessings  what  the  flow'ry  mead? 
From  thy  rapt  fountain  patriotism  flows, 
On  thy  fair  breast  man's  great  ambition  grows, 
His  aspirations  looking  to  the  skies, 
Where  night  on  hight  great  emulations  rise. 
Tho'  fortune  smile  in  some  voluptuous  land, 
Tho*  fame  weave  laurels  with  a  lavish  hand, 
The  homely  swain  of  Scotia's  thatch-built  shed, 
Pines  for  his  frugal  meal  of  milk  and  Dread, 
Longs  for  his  oaten  tune  and  herded  vales, 
His  shouting  harvests  and  echoing  flails. 
And  why?  because  sweet  love   can  make  him 

yearn 
For  early  friendships,  and  his  native  bourne. 

Some  Sylvia  charms  the  rustic's  lowly  dell, 
The  water  sweetens  from  his  native  well, 
The  hills  ennobles  on  his  happy  view, 
His  even  plains  with  fresh  delights  doth  strew  j 
The  rough  face  brightens  of  his  daily  care, 
With  satisfaction  crowns  his  scanty  fare, 
Pours  pleasures  in  the  lap  of  lusty  toil, 
And  forces  plenty  from  the  stubborn  soil. 
To  him  no  hills  above  his  own  arise, 
No  vales  so  pleasant  meet  his  ravished  eyes, 
And  clouds  so  peaceful  no  such  fair  skies. 
To  him  no  waters  like  the  bubbly  rill, 
That  murmurs  by  his  cot  beneath  the  hill, 
No  tune  so  charming  as  his  highland  air, 
No  flocks  so  even  and  no  lambs  so  fair. 
To  him  no  land  at  all,  no  world  besides 
The  world  of  love  that  in  his  heart  abides. 
See  where  the  hero  drives  his  way  to  war, 
With  Feast  or  Famine  harnessed  to  his  car; 
O'er  crumbling   thrones,  his   flaming   prowess 

leads 

And  at  his  wheels  imploring  freedom  bleeds ! 
Some  Cleopatra  names  the  war-doomed  land 
And  thrusts  the  torch  of  battle  in  his  hand. 


62 


NOT    A    MAN.    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


Night  after  night  our  lovers  met  and  parted ; 
Night  after  night  they  grew  more  loving  heart- 
ed; 

Took  moonlight  rambles  in  the  secret  shade, 
Wider  and  wider  their  excursions  made, 
And  ev'ry  night  the  longer  they  delayed. 
Oft  arm-in-arm,  with  child-like  dalliance  they, 
And  devious  eyes,  pursue  their  lonely  way, 
Or  turn  aside  beneath  the  arching  groves, 
In  scented  nooks  to  prattle  o'er  their  loves ; 
Till  thro*  the  drowsy  branches  sinking  bright 
A  late  moon  seems  to   smile  and  say,  "  Good 
night." 

Again  the  shades  of  night  were  falling  round, 
And  hill  and  vale  a  lulling  speech  had  found, 
When  lost  in  bliss,  the  lovers  met  the  moon, 
Beyond  their  wonted  rambles;  but  there  soon 
A  hidden  fury,  who  had  scanned  their  walks 
And  drunk  the  whispers  of  their  loving  talks, 
Their  master  who  can  dare  forbid  their  loves  — 
Flies  on  them  like  a  hawk  on  cooing  doves. 
Leeona,  clasping  Rodney,  starts  and  cries, 
And  Aylor  hard  to  tear  her  from  him  tries ; 
Till  Rodney's  hand  with  warning  aspect  laid 
Upon  his  shoulder,  his  hot  rage  allayed. 
The   shud'ring     winds    bore   Aylor's   threats 

around, 
The  groves  their  bosoms  hushed  to  catch  the 

sound, 

But  Rodney  led  his  loving  Ona  on, 
And  with  her  stood  the  threshold  safe  upon. 

Now  to  her  room,  Leeona  mounted  slow — 
A  dim  light  on  her  table  flick' ring  low  — 
She  sat  awhile  to  ponder  her  sad  heart: 
A  locket,  gift  from  Rodney,  took  apart 
Looked  on  his  picture,  held  it  to  her  breast, 
And  with  a  sad  sad  heart,  she  tried  to  rest. 
Her  light  went  out,  the  room  was  dark,  ex- 
cept 

The  moon  that  thro*  her  lattice  faintly  crept 
And  looked  into  her  troubled  face,  but  fair, 
That  now  upturned  was  beautiful  in  prayer. 
She  knew  not  that  her  faithful  Rodney,  near 
Beneath  her  window  all  her  words  could  hear, 
As  thus  she  prayed:  "Out  of  the  storm,  Oh, 

Lord! 
Thou  wilt  bring  shine  to  those  who  trust  Thy 

word  I 

If  draughts  of  bitter  grief  must  first  be  ta'en, 
Oh!  Thou  dost  fill  us  with  Thy  joys  again; 
Now  in  whatever  land  my  love  may  mourn, 
Or  'mid  whatever  trials  be  sojourn, 


Like  walls  of  strength  around  him,  Oh,  Thou 

King 

Of  saints  Thy  mighty  arms  of  succor  fling!  " 
Lo!  Rodney  answers:  "  O,  my  Ona,  dear, 
If  thou  dost  pray  I  know  the  Lord  will  hear!  " 
Now  to  her  feet  the  Creole  bounds, 
On  tip-toe  to  the  window  steals, 
Where  blossomed  vines  her  form  conceals; 
But  clank  of  chains,  and  bay  of  bounds, 
Stentorian  oaths,  and  raving  sounds, 
Burst  on  her  ear,  and  freeze  her  speech, 
Ere  yet  her  words  can  Rodney  reach. 

Now  thronged  about  by  savage  men, 

And  raving  bloodhounds  nine  or  ten, 

That  howl  with  rage  and  gnaw  and  bay, 

Like  demons  that  from  Tophet  stray, 

Rodney  with  irons  loaded  she 

Must  turn  away,  or  bear  to  see. 

But  as  she  turns  the  hounds  appear, 

And  in  their  fierce  jaws  Rodney  tear. 

Unarmed  he  falls,  with  pain  he  groans, 

A  gust  of  loud  oaths  mocks  his  moans, 

While  human  monsters  gather  round, 

And  fierce  dogs  drag  him  o'er  the  ground, 

Till  he  in  cords  of  hemp  is  bound. 

"  Oh,  save!  "  gasped  Ona  as  she,  poor 

Sweet  child,  sank  swooning  on  the  floor. 

A  moment  there,  a  corpse  she  seemed, 

As  in  her  face  the  moonlight  streamed; 

Then  frantic  rose  and  downwards  flew, 

And  on  her  lover's  bosom  threw 

Her  wild  sweet  form,  his  strong  neck  drew 

Into  her  arms,  and  her  cheeks  fair 

Pressed  upon  his,  and  with  her  streaming  hair, 

Covered  his  bleeding  shoulders  that  lay  bare. 

And  this  is  Slav'ry!  this  the  humane  creed, 
That  stretched  a  helping  hand  to  Afric'sneed  — 
The  holy  Institution  that  was  bound 
To  lift  the  heathen,  tho'  the  Heavens  frowned ! 
Ah!  this  was  what  a  righteous  Nation  heard 
Pray  in  her  temples,  and  expound  the  Word. 
This  was  Creation's  good  Samaritan, 
And  poor  old  Afric  was  the  thief -torn  man. 
Oh,  who  has  not  the  dear  old  shepherd  seen, 
Stand  Moses-like,  God  and  His  hosts  between, 
Bless  Slavery  as  a  child  of  Heaven  born, 
Since  Joseph  was  from  poor  old  Jacob  torn ; 
Watch  ever  sleepless  o'er  his  peaceful  fold, 
Unawed  by  dangers  uninduced  by  gold, 
And  weep  if  one  poor  lamb  from  shelter  cries 
That  is,  one  white  lamb ;  if  black,  shut  his  eyes? 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


63 


Ah  I  Young  America,  for  God's  sake,  pause, 
Hast  thou  such  preachers,  and  hast  thou  such 
laws? 

With  ruffian  hands,  the  maid  was  to  her  room 
Forced  hurriedly,  and  shut  within  its  gloom. 
Sad  as  the  evening  star's  last  glim'ring  ray, 
Now  from  a  swoon  the  sweet  girl  crept  and  lay 
Half  conscious,  till  the  night  had  far  away 
Towards  the  morning  sped. 
Wild  phantoms   wandered   thro1    her  fevered 

brain, 

Sweet  slumber  from  her  eyes  its  flight  had  ta'en, 
And  fainting  hope  had  fled ; 
When  in  night's  silent  depths  she  heard  a  sound, 
As  of  shy  footfalls,  that  on  tip-toe  wound 
Along  the  mansion's  stairs,  now  quick  and  low, 
And  hesitating  now  and  slow. 
Then  all  was  still,  save  that  she  heard 
Upon  the  roof  light  boughs  that  stirred, 
To  hold  the  winds  that  with  them  played, 
And  off  in  outer  stillness  strayed. 
Again  the  cautious  sounds  revived, 
And  stood  there  motionless  as  death. 
Till  borne  upon  a  husky  breath, 
This  sentence  thro'  the  key-hole  blew: 
"  Git  up,  my  child,  Ise  cum  fur  you  I" 
'T was  « '  Aunt  Ameriky , ' '  —  she  knew — 
She  bounded  up,  she  followed  fast 
Her  sable  guide  who  hurried  past 
Her  master's  door  with  breathless  ease, 
And  stood  beneath  the  silent  trees. 

Then  thus,  low  spake  the  good  old  guide, 
"  In  yonder  room  is  Rodney  tied, 
Where  stands  a  locust  on  dis  side. 
De  white  folks  sell  him  in  de  morn, 
An  he'll  be  left  yer  shore's  yer  born, 
Go  see  him  gal  bid  him  farwell, 
An'  tell  him  what  yers  got  to  tell. 
An'  I'll  stand  here  de  outside  by, 
An*  keep  watchout  wid  open  eye." 
Now  near  this  room — a  prison  made 
In  which  to  keep  slaves  till  conveyed 
Into  their  buyer's  custody  — 
Leeona  stole  on  cautiously. 

Where  thro'  a  crevice  in  the  wall, 

A  late  moon  lighted  up  his  thrall, 

The  pale  maid  saw  her  lover  lie, 

And  called  him  with  a  burning  sigh. 

He  answers :  "  Ah  1  is  that  my  dove?" 

And  she,  "Oh,  have  they  bound  yon,  love?" 


The  ebon  angel  of  the  night, 

Now  flew  away  and  out  of  sight, 

But  soon  returned  with  keys  in  hand 

And  knife,  and  giving  this  command : 

"  Cum  wid  me,  chile!"  unlocked  the  room, 

And  entering  its  sepulchral  gloom, 

Stooped  to  her  knees  upon  the  floor, 

The  knotty  fast'nings  to  explore, 

Of  Rodney's  arms;  her  knife  apply, 

And  loosing  him,  let  Ona  fly 

With  outstretched  arms  to  his  embrace, 

Lean  on  his  breast  and  look  into  his  face. 

A  moment  passed,  and  drinking  Ona's  sighs, 
The  proud  slave  stood,  while  with  his  down- 
ward eyes 

He  caught  the  azure  of  her  tender  gaze 
And  felt  his  kindling  manhood  all  ablaze. 
"Naught  have  I  borne!"  he  cries,  "love,  but 

for  thee, 

These  bloody  tokens  of  the  truth  oh,  see  I 
Would  I  could  Northward  fly  and  now  be  free  I 
But  where  thou  art  not,  all  is  bondage  dire. 
I'm  free  in  chains,  if  I  but  in  the  fire 
Of  thy  sweet  eyes,  may  feel  my  heart  aspire. 
I  now  could  arm,  and  would  at  once  essay, 
The  vile  destroyer  of  my  joys  to  slay; 
But  then  the  law  would  drive  me  from  thy  sight, 
Then  day  were   darkness   in  my   soul's  long 
night." 

Now  thus  Leeona,  gazing  in  the  moon, 

"  Haste,  Rodney,  lo,  the  day  will  open  soonl 

Hie  to  the  cave,  on  yonder  side  extreme 

Of  that  vast  wood,  where   not  the  brightest 

beam 

Of  potent  noon  can  thy  dark  seat  invade ; 
Keep  hid  by  day,  by  night  explore  the  shade. 
There  we  shall  meet.    I'll  there  late  rambles 

take, 

And  come  to  thee.    The  signal  I  will  make 
Is  a  low  song,  when  there's  no  danger  nigh, 
Then  we  will  walk;  but  hark,  a  footstep,  fly! 
Nay,  come  now  dearest  to  this  further  shade, 
Where  our  light  converse  may  not  be  betrayed. 
Tread  lightly,  ah!  speak  low,  for  now  I  fear 
Suspicion  walks  abroad,  with  open  ear 
Upon  the  winds!    Haste,  Rodney,  come  away! 
Still!  there  thy  heart  unburden,  —  no  delay. 
List!    hush!    a    hoof,    'tis  —  no  —  my  beating 

heart ; 

That  night  bird,  hark  how  lonely  I    Oh,  I  start! 
For  now  methinks  his  note  doth  omens  bring 
Of  something  all  my  poor  heart  saddening." 


64 


NOT  A  MAN,   AND  YET   A  MAN. 


No  evening  shepherd  ever  tuned  a  lay, 

Of  sweeter  accent,  down  his  mountain  way 

Homeward  returning  at  the  close  of  day, 

Than  was  this  speech  to  Rodney's  listening  ears, 

Till  in  the  hall  a  sudden  step  she  hears. 

His  arms  once  more  round  Ona  Rodney  flings, 
And  sudden  freedom  to  his  flight  lends  wings, 
Towards  the  cave  he  turns  his  flying  face, 
This  way  and  that,  and  leaps  at  every  pace, 
To  keep  up  with  imagination's  feet, 
That  brush  by  him  in  noiseless  retreat. 
The  cave  is  reached,  and  wide  apartments  found, 
With  easy  access,  hollowed  in  the  ground, 
And  entering  slow,  now  Rodney  feels  around, 
Finds  shelves  of  stone,  and  seats  and  beds  of 

stone, 
But  windows,  attics,  and  piazzas,  none. 

Meanwhile  Leeona,  noiseless  as  a  sprite, 
Flies  through  the  halls,  and  up  the  ancient  flight 
Back  to  her  room,  and  softly  sinks  to  rest, 
Till  morn  shall  chase  the  darkness  towards  the 

West. 

'Mid  all  the  jars  that  shook  the  Aylor  seat, 
And  hot  suspicions,  Rodney's  dark  retreat 
Was  ne'er  discovered  $  and  Leeona  true 
As  only  woman  can  be,  'scaping  thro* 
The  darkness,  met  him  oft,  and  took  him  food, 
And  gave  him  comfort  in  the  dismal  wood. 
Of  how  she  met  him,  cheered  him ;  noble  slave ! 
And  lighted  up  the  dungeon  of  his  cave, 
And  with  him  walked  thro'  moonlight  rambles 

long, 

Cannot  be  painted  in  our  faithful  song. 
Elijah,  fed  by  ravens,  it  would  seem, 
May  have  thought  all  the  world  a  holy  dream; 
And  Peter  seeing  wild  beasts  in  a  sheet 
Tied  up,  and  angels  crying  "  slay  and  eat  " 
May  have  been  awed  at  his  supply  of  meat. 
But  what  must  he  have  thought,  who  chased  by 

men 

And  hounds,  from  human  sight  into  a  den, 
The  angel  of  his  love  found  coming  there, 
Him  to  refresh,  and  his  abode  to  share? 
'Twas  midnight,  and  a  round  moon  stood, 
Behind  the  tow'ring  cypress  wood 
And  in  her  risen  glory  rolled 
Her  chariot  thro'  a  field  of  gold, 
A  nightingale  within  the  shade, 
Her  wonted  music  sweetly  made, 
When  angels  witnessed  such  a  sight 
As  ne'er  was  dreampt  of  in  the  night. 
A  dark  old  Priest  —  he  knew  no  creed,  — 


A  man  of  God,  in  holy  deed, 

A  true  Apostle  to  the  slave, 

At  midnight  stood  in  Rodney's  cave. 

His  locks  were  white  and  his  dark  face 

Shone  with  the  meekness  of  his  race ; 

And  by  him  stood  his  good  old  wife, 

"  Ameriky,"  who  all  his  life, 

Had  cheered  him  when  his  heart  was  faint, 

And  shared  his  ills  without  complaint. 

A  pine  knot  lighted  with  its  blaze, 

The  silent  cave,  and  in  its  rays, 

The  lovely  Creole  lovlier  shone 

As  Rodney  claimed  her  as  his  own. 

Old  Gabriel  joined  their  hands  in  prayer 

And  kneeling  blessed  the  union  there, 

While  like  an  angel  of  the  night, 

His  wife  stood  by  and  held  the  light. 

"  What  God  hath  joined  together,"  then 

He  cried,  "  among  the  sons  of  men 

Let  none  be  found  to  put  apart, 

For,  one  in  mind  you're  one  in  heart. 

Again  the  nightingale  set  in, 

And  with  a  never-ending  din 

Of  blithest  notes,  poured  out  her  soul 

In  sweetness  that  knew  no  control. 

The  rising  moon  seemed  brighter  now 

Flooding  with  light  the  world  below; 

And  night  winds  thro'  the  pines  that  strayed 

A  wedding  march  for  Rodney  played. 

Filled  with  bright  stars  the  midnight  sky 

Spread  out  a  wide-arched  canopy 

O'er  woods  that  rose  like  palace  walls 

With  soft  lights  streaming  through  the  halls 

And  in  which,  all  the  guests  being  gone 

Majestic  silence  reigned  alone. 

FLIGHT  OF  LEEONA. 

In  bloom  gemm'd  depths,  where  Sylvan  branches 

meet 

Above  dim  aisles  that  part  a  still  retreat; 
Where  light  as  shy  is  stealing  o'er  your  path, 
As  some  chaste  maid  unrobing  at  the  bath ; 
There  where  majestic  palms  on  high  doth  tower, 
With  arbors  grand  is  built  the  Aylor  bower. 
Here  Ona  now  a  noon  excursion  made, 
And  strolled  alone  along  the  silent  shade. 
There,  as  she  went,  and  could  not  turn  nor  stay, 
But  ling'ringly  pursued  her  flow'ry  way, 
And  gazed  into  the  song-stirred  woods  beyond, 
She  stooped  to  raise  a  wayside  flow'r  with  fond 
And  gentle  touch,  and  with  a  sweet  look  try 
To  coax  the  timid  azure  from  its  eye. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


65 


And  now  she  turns  upon  a  mossy  seat, 

Where  sings  a  fern-bound  streamlet  at  her  feet, 

Where  breathes  the  orange  on  the  swooning 

air; 

And  in  her  queenly  pride  the  rose  blooms  fair, 
There,  gazing  in  the  bright  waves  of  the  stream : 
Her  thoughts  swim  on  in  a  sweet  summer's 

dream. 

Soon  Mosher  Aylor  parts  this  dense  retreat, 
And  finds  his  slave  reclining,  fast  asleep; 
Within  the  drooping  boughs  —  the  very  air 
Seems  with  reluctance  to  breathe  on  her  there ! 
And  water  lilies,  prattling  in  the  stream, 
With  speech  subdued,  enchanted  list'ners  seem. 
Leeona's  tresses  round  her  slim  waist  meet, 
The  bright  waves  leap  and  sigh  to  kiss  her  feet, 
Her  fair  breasts  and  her  shapely  neck  disclose 
The  lovely  hues  of  young  life's  freshest  rose. 

Low  Aylor  peers  the  arching  shades  beneath, 
Lust  heaves  his  bosom  and  compels  his  breath, 
While  thus  he  ponders,  on  his  raving  breast, 
His  hand  in  trembling  indecision  prest; 
"I'll  nearer  steal,  but  then  she  might  awake! 
Oh,  in  these  boughs  I'll  stand,  till  mine  eyes 

take 

Their  feast  of  gaze !  Ah !  what  a  beauty  she ! 
My  soul  is  drowning  in  a  boundless  sea 
Of  what  I  can't  express  1     And  she  is  mine! 
My  own  slave!  No,  Leeona,  no,  I'm  thine! 
I'll  be  thy  slave,  and  thou  my  wife  — my  —  no! 
There's  negro  in  her  veins !    'Twould  never  do ! 
No  Saxon  proud  a  negro  wench  could  woo, 
And  let  disgrace  frown  on  him?    But  she's  fair! 
Her  cheeks,  how   radiant;  ah!    what   eyes  — 

what  hair  I 

Thou    angel    slave!     and    mine!     I'll    nearer 

steal. 

And  make  her  while  these  boughs  shall  us  con- 
ceal. 

I'll  proffer  her  a  master's  secret  love, 
Protection,  freedom  or  her  heart  I'll  move 
To  confidence  and  yielding  secresy, 
By  signals  of  superiority." 
Then  as  a  rough  voiced  hurricane  that  finds 
The  hiding  places  of  the  little  winds, 
Where  insect  horns  their  day  long  music  keep, 
And  starts  zephyrus  in  her  noontide  sleep ; 
So,  filled  with  blasty  lusts  old  Aylor  goes, 
Till  on  the  fair  young  slave  his  footsteps  close, 
And  as  the  meshes  of  a  dream  have  caught 
The  waving  pinions  of  her  sunny  thought, 


She  hears  his  steps,  sleep  blends  them  with  her 

dream, 
Till  touch'd  she  wakes  and  bounds  up  with  a 

scream. 

Her  master's  low  entreaties  make  her  worse, 
She  screams  for  aid,  till  screaming  makes  her 

hoarse. 

He  grows  more  furious  as  she  him  defies; 
The  helpless  lamb  to  flee  the  lion  tries 
No  fear  can  shake  her  strength  or  daunt  her 

soul, 

Her  senses  reel,  and  fury  takes  control, 
Till  from  the  beast  she  tears;  she  flies  away 
And  leaves  him  threat'ning  of  another  day. 

The  arbor's  deepest  bosom  saddened  seemed, 
As  innocence's  big  libations  streamed 
Fast  down  Leeona's  pity-suing  cheeks, 
And  her   poor  breaking   heart    gave  vent  to 

shrieks ; 

And  up  to  sympathizing  Heaven  she  turned 
Her   tear-dimmed   eyes,    that    with    entreaty 

burned. 

Oh,  loveliness  thou  radiant  visaged  sprite, 
Thou  lute-voiced  warbler  wooing  to  delight! 
By  prince  alike,  and  homely  swain  adored, 
By  every  gentleness  of  soul  implored! 
When  unprotected,  howe'er  cherished  much, 
To  thee  how  blighting  is  the  wanton  touch! 
E'en  as  the  woodside  flow'ret  plucked  away  — - 
Torn  from  the  bosom  of  its  parent  May  — 
Dost  droop  within  the  rough  grasp  of  the  swain, 
Thou  witberest  to  ne'er  revive  again ! 
And  Slavery,  thou  worst  of  all  the  host 
Of  human  ills!  I  hate,  I  loathe,  thee  most! 
Thy  name  I  spurn,  thy  grov'ling  aims  I  hate, 
And  all  thy  bitter  creeds  abominate; 
Yet  loveliest  daughters  to  thee  hast  been  born, 
Daughters  that  might  a  palace  hall  adorn, 
The  tender  out-growth  of  unholy  deeds, 
The  brightrhued  blossoms  of  offensive  weeds. 

'Twas  eve  in  Florida  serene  and  bright, 
And  gently  sighed  the  wind  as  sighs  a  maid 
When  watching  in  a  full  moon's  silver  light, 
Her  lover's  coming  in  the  trysting  shade. 
The  woods  breathed  softly,  and  their  even  breath 
Was   sweet  with  blossoms  of  the  neighb'ring 

heath. 

And,  save  the  lonely  note  of  nightingale, 
The  churlish  out-bursts  of  the  farm  boy's  vale, 
The  horn  owl's  shout,  and  swamp  bird's  lone 

reply, 
No  evening  sound  disturbed  the  sleepy  sky. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


Now  near  a  dark  and  solemn  wood, 
Close  by  the  Ay  lor  house  I  stood. 
The  evening  star,  without  a  peer, 
Was  sinking  in  its  mild  career, 
As  sinks  the  warrior  on  his  shield, 
To  rest  from  a  victorious  field. 
Soon,  as  a  maid  will  half  conceal 
To  show  her  beauty,  then  with  sighs, 
Languishing  looks,  and  yielding  eyes, 
Will  clothe  her  sex  with  that  appeal, 
Which  conquers  him  who  dares  to  feel; 
So,  bursting  from  the  wood's  embrace, 
.A  moon  in  clouds  of  silvery  grace 
Ascended  her  majestic  throne 
Of  green  hills,  and  serenely  shone. 

I  heard  a  wail  of  woman's  woe ; 
Now  loud  it  sounded,  and  now  low, 
Suppressed,  as  if  in  sudden  flow, 
A  hand  had  checked  its  bitter  gush; 
Then  followed  an  expressive  hush, 
When,  in  the  mansion's  silent  hall 
I  saw  a  female  proud  and  tall, 
Half  covered  in  the  myrtle's  shade, 
Thro*  which  the  moonlight  faintly  strayed, 
Her  long  hair  streamed  below  her  waist 
In  wild  waves ;  and  her  bosom  chaste 
Arose  in  pensive  sweetness  bare, 
Some  monster  trouble  seemed  to  dare. 
Her  eyes  with  sullen  luster  blazed, 
As  up  to  Heav'n  she  firmly  gazed, 
And  clasped  an  infant  to  her  breast, 
To  gently  hush  its  sweet  unrest. 
I  nearer  to  the  woman  stole, 
And  lo  1  she  was  the  fair  Creole ! 
For  unobserved,  I  reached  the  hall, 
And  leaned  against  the  shadowed  wall, 
Just  as  the  moon  was  fairly  seen, 
Rising  high  the  hills  between. 

I  heard  the  Creole's  softest  sighs, 

And  saw  her  flash  her  restless  eyes 

Upon  her  rear;  I  now  did  know, 

She  was  pursued  by  some  dread  foe. 

I  looked  upon  her  lovely  form, 

And  felt  my  very  blood  run  warm. 

Ah!  she  was  beautiful,  tho*  not 

So  fair  as  lovesick  rhymers  plot, 

Or  whining  prose  mongers  array, 

Along  the  novel's  little  way, 

Through  which  good  sense  will  never  pass, 

But  where  the  intellectual  ass 

Delights  to  roam,  or  fast  or  slow, 

To  see  the  strange  white  lilies  grow, 


Or  hear  a  big  black  giant  blow ! 

Ah  I  not  so  fair,  but  a  rich  rose, 

And  brilliant  as  the  stream  which  flows 

From  Summer  hills,  with  meadows  sweet, 

And  waving  cornfields  at  their  feet; 

Where  flow'ry  landscapes  farther  lie, 

Beneath  an  azure  canopy. 

But  hovered  o'er  by  dark-plumed  fears, 
Continued  wrongs  had  dried  her  tears 
In  their  bright  depths  yet,  as  a  rill, 
When  Winter  on  his  cheerless  hill, 
Freezes  the  surface  with  his  breath, 
But  cannot  stop  the  flow  beneath; 
So  her  proud  look  of  beauty  showed 
That  sorrow's  stream  beneath  it  flowed. 

Oh!  how  I  wished  I  knew  wherefore 
Her  wrongs,  and  her  distresses  sore! 
How  then  I  could  have  met  her  foe, 
And  brought  her  weal,  or  shared  her  woe  I 
I  raised  rny  hands,  I  strove  to  speak, 
But  deep  suspense  had  made  me  weak; 
I  could  but  lisp  a  single  word, 
And  that  too  faintly  to  be  heard. 
Then,  ere  I  caught  my  reeling  sense, 
I  would  have  sprung  to  her  defense, 
But  horror  froze  my  sluggish  blood, 
And  I  aghast  in  silence  stood. 
There  was  a  whisper  in  the  hall, 
And  then  there  came  a  quick  footfall. 
Leeona  flashed  a  hurried  eye, 
And  "  Oh,  dear  Rodney!"  then  did  cry, 
And  to  his  brave  arms  weeping  fly. 
A  moment  clasped  in  love  they  stood; 
Then  he  looked  round  in  sullen  mood, 
As  calm  as  nisjht,  but  stern  as  death, 
Resentment  burning  on  his  breath, 
And  "fly,  Leeona!"  quickly  gasped, 
And  warm  in  his  her  small  hand  clasp'd. 
"  They're  on  us  now,  and  soon  we'll  be 
Beyond  the  hope  of  Liberty." 

"Hush!  Ah!  they  come!  Oh,  can't  you  hear 

Their  angry  footsteps  hurrying  near? 

Wait  not  a  moment  to  be  gone, 

By  Heaven  aided  fly  alone  I 

I'll  meet,  and  hold  them  here  at  bay, 

Or  stain  with  blood  their  fiendish  way.'1 

I  strove  now  but  could  not  withdraw, 

Nor  look,  nor  shut  my  eyes  for  awe. 

A  hurried  sigh,  a  sob  suppressed, 

Escaped  Leeona's  noble  breast. 

Now  wild  as  the  wild  cat'ract  moans, 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET    A   MAN. 


67 


Thro*  deep  shades  and  replying  stones, 
The  murmur  from  her  bosom  rose: 
"  God  save  my  Etta  from  my  foes  !'* 
Then  on  her  shoulder  swinging  straight, 
The  thoughtless  infant's  little  weight, 
Forth  from  the  mansion's  hall  she  stole, 
Like  hope's  last  vision  from  the  soul. 
Her  lips  were  clenched,  her  eyes  were  staid, 
Her  brow  was  knit  and  arched  with  shade, 
To  Heaven  alone  she  looked  for  help, 
And  fearless  as  the  lion's  whelp, 
Was  winding  thro'  the  silent  grove, 
With  no  cheer  but  the  moon  above. 
Now  fast  and  faster  out  she  flew, 
Till  indistinctly  on  the  view, 
She  seemed  a  shadow,  then  was  seen 
No  more  the  darkling  trees  between. 

Now  in  the  dismal  mansion  roared 
A  storm  of  heavy  steps  that  poured 
From  aisle  to  aisle,  and  hall  to  hall, 
As  if  loud  tongues  in  every  wall 
Were  loosed  upon  the  night  to  call. 
The  current  foamed  towards  the  door, 
From  which  had  flown  the  Creole  poor, 
And  o'er  the  voices  of  the  crowd 
One  great  grum  throat  was  heard  alond, 
Like  a  crack'd  trumpet  fiercely  blown, 
Or  like  a  wild  boar's  sally  groan:       • 
"  Let  loose  the  hounds  upon  her  track, 
Go,  villains  I  Speed  and  bring  her  back! 
Or  leave  her  dead  upon  her  way, 
And  on  her  flesh  let  vultures  prey  I" 

Old  Aylor  ceased,  and  his  dread  form, 
Peerless  in  terror,  issued  forth 
As  wrathful  as  the  blackest  storm 
That  ever  issued  from  the  North, 
To  fill  the  eagle's  palace  bright, 
With  thunder  pouring  clouds  at  night. 
Then  grim  as  some  old  Indian  king, 
He  strode  among  the  gaping  throng 
Till  like  a  Champion  of  the  ring 
Of  loud  Olympus,  stern  and  strong, 
Of  matchless  port,  and  manner  proud, 
He  rose  above  the  gaping  crowd 
Of  men  and  dogs.    He  shook  his  hair, 
Dread  silence  seized  the  trembling  air, 
Dumb  terror  made  his  minions  quake. 
Their  knees  to  smite,  their  fingers  shake, 
And  dogs  beneath  his  nod  and  scowl, 
Began  to  gnaw  their  chains  and  howl. 

The  chains  are  loosed,  and  at  a  smack 
Away  fierce  yelping  fly  the  pack, 


With  deep'ning  mouths  in  full  chase  break, 

And  dark  woods  their  responses  wake ; 

The  very  night  shades  seem  to  fly, 

And  dance  with  terror  on  the  eye ; 

For  dreadful  sight  is  it  to  see, 

A  woman  from  the  bloodhound  flee, 

Then  like  a  lion,  when  loud  dogs  invade, 

That  flies  in  fury  from  his  roaring  shade, 

The  bristling  terrors  scatters  from  his  path, 

And  shakes  the  forests  in  his  lordly  wrath. 

So   now  brave    Rodney   from   the    dark    hall 

springs, 

And  right  and  left  the  crowd  of  hunters  flings. 
These   at    him    stare     with   trembling   fears 

opprest ; 

He  plucks  a  dagger  from  his  fearless  breast, 
Displays  the  ghastly  menace  to  their  eyes, 
And  in  pursuit  of  hounds  and  Creole  flies. 

Ah !  ye  whose  eyes  with  pity  doth  run  o'er, 
When  mournful  tales  come   from   a   heathen 

shore, 

Of  babes  by  mothers  thrown  to  crocodile ; 
The  scaly  terror  of  the  languid  Nile : 
Of  Brahma's  car  and  Islam's  wanton  rites, 
And  bloody  raids  on  Zion's  sacred  nights ! 
Ye  who  hear  these  and  pray  for  God  to  come, 
Behold  yon  mother  fleeing  from  her  home  I 
A  helpless  babe  upon  her  frantic  breast, 
And  by  a  savage  master's  bloodhounds  prest; 
And  this,  too,  where  in  every  steepled  town, 
The  crucifix  on  human  wrong  looks  down! 
Think  then  no  more  of  heathen  lands  to  rave, 
While  in  America  there  breathes  a  slave! 

Rodney  pursues,  and  where  the  sickened  moon 
Looks  thro'  the  woods,  comes  to  Leeona  soon. 
The  angry  hounds  have  overtaken  their  prey, 
And  round  her,  madly  mingling  surge  and  bay. 
Deep   thro*  the  wastes  their  fiendish  voices 

ring, 

Wild  with  their  tongues,  wood,  plain  and  hill- 
ock sing ;  — 

And  now  they  close  upon  her  thick  around ; 
Ah!   God,  they   seize,  they  drag   her  to   the 

ground ! 

But  Rodney  nears ;  he  hears  the  woman's  cries, 
Right  on  the  hounds  with  flashing  steel  he  flies; 
They  on  him  furious  turn,  with  eyes  that  glare 
Like  furies'  fell,  jaws  gaping,  and  teeth  bare : 
This  one  and  that  he  seizes  as  they  lunge 
Upon  him  and  their  fangs  into  him  plunge. 
Deep  thro*  their  reeking  sides  his  blade  he 
drives 


68 


HOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


They  reel  away  and  empty  out  their  lives ; 
Till  with  their  hot  blood  dropping  from  his 

hands, 
He  master  of  the  situation  stands ! 

Ah  I  ye  whose  hearts  with  swifter  currents  beat, 
When  fabled  gods  in  equal  combat  meet, 
Shout  loud  the  challenge,  swing  their  shields 

immense 

While  armies  hang  around  in  dread  suspense, 
Lift  their  great  lances  like  the  lightnings  driven, 
Jar   all    the    plain  and  shake   the   vault   of 

heaven ; — 

Behold  this  hero  of  the  real  fight, 
This  man  who  dares  the  fury  of  the  night; 
Whose  fearless  bosom,  lit  with  valor's  fire, 
Withstands  the  bloodhound  in  his  hateful  ire; 
Whose   faithful  heart  to   love's  first   impulse 

true 
Will  dare  to  suffer  and  is  brave  to  do. 

Now  Rodney  listens,  his  surrounding  views, 
And  thro'  the  pines  his  dismal  way  pursues. 
Leeona  follows  on  their  journey  dark, 
Where  horn-owls  laugh  and  wary  foxes  bark; 
Till  thro'  the  branches  morning  rises  bright, 
With  rosy  smiles  and  locks  of   streaming  light. 

We  wander  now  in  grasses  long  and  damp, 
O'er  oozy  mosses  of  a  dismal  swamp, 
Thro'  languid  brakes,  and  under  giant  trees, 
Thro'  whose  dark  boughs  the  high  noon  never 

sees, 

Here  nature  sleeps  her  long,  long  torpid  nap 
In  silence,  on  the  Tropic's  tangled  lap; 
Here   songless     streams  with   lazy   murmurs 

creep 

On  slowly,  talking  in  their  languid  sleep ; 
Here  hideous  reptiles  in  their  slimy  reign 
Crawl  aimless  ever,  and  an  apish  train 
Of  forest  hoodlums  day  long  orgies  hold; 
And  birds,  although  their  plumage  gleam  with 

gold, 

And  divers  colors  sing  not ;  in  this  wood, 
This  habitation  of  dark  solitude. 
The  weary  slaves  for  life  escaping  fly 
Into  the  arms  of  dismal  safety. 
The  scaly  monsters  of  the  fens  and  brakes 
Around  them  here  a  sure  protection  makes, 
For  who  would  dare  the  danger  of  the  bogs ; 
With  alligators  waiting  for  their  dogs. 

Here  peace  the  wand'rers  found, 
And  love  about  them  wound 


Her  golden  cords  the  tighter; 

As  fears  vanish'd  away, 

And  they  from  day  to  day 

Felt  life's  burdens  grow  lighter. 

Ona  saw  Rodney's  manhood,  he 

Her  fortitude  and  constancy; 

Thus,  each  could  in  the  other  see 

Enough  to  keep  the  loving  eye 

With  pleasures  running  over. 

As  Eve  and  Adam,  innocent 

Within  the  charms  of  Eden  went, 

And  nothing  of  the  wide  world  knew, 

Save  that  which  lay  betwixt  the  two ; 

So  wandered  these  the  wild  shade  thro', 

Lover  absorbed  in  lover. 

Far  from  their  place  within  the  wood, 

Once  Rodney  went  to  search  for  food, 

And  ready  make,  for  he  next  day 

Must  northward  take  his  dangerous  way. 

Leeona  waiting,  sandals  knit 

Of  fibers  from  the  cypress  split, 

A  basket  rude  of  willow  wove, 

And  gathered  wild  fruits  from  the  grove. 

The  sun  upon  his  western  way, 

Had  nearly  reached  the  verge  of  day, 

Baptizing  in  his  golden  sheen 

The  lofty  groves  of  cypress  green ; 

When  in  "the  swamp  grass  long  and  dank, 

Leeona  reached  a  bayou's  bank. 

Lol  all  around  was  strange  and  lone, 

And  silence  on  her  dismal  throne 

Held  her  dark  sway  in  every  nook ; 

Save  that  a  swamp  bird  lonely  shook 

A  mournful  noise  from  its  wee  throat, 

That  sounded  something  like  a  note; 

And  that  its  tiny  mate  did  say 

Some  feeble  things  anear  her  way, 

Scarce  able  when  it  flew  to  shake  a  spray. 

Leeona  turned  to  scan  the  wood, 
When  lo  1  beyond  her  scarce  a  rood, 
A  horrid  human  form  she  viewed  I 
A  tall  old  man  in  skins  half  guised, 
Half  savage  and  half  civilized; 
With  a  great  cudgel  in  his  hand, 
Towards  her  gazing  still  did  stand. 
About  his  waist  a  leathern  thong 
Bound  his  long  locks,  they  were  so  long,  — 
Unkempt  and  matted  close  they  lay, 
And  age's  touch  had  made  them  gray. 
His  gaunt  arms  were  of  monstrous  length, 
The  ghastly  signs  of  wasted  strength. 
"  Ah!  "  Ona  sighed,  "  what  shall  I  do?  " 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


69 


And  as  she  thought,  unseen  withdrew ; 
But  there  the  ghostly  hermit  stalked 
Around  her  hiding-place  then  walked 
Straight  in  the  brush  to  where  she  lay 
Breathless,  and  stood  right  in  her  way; 
Swung  his  great  cudgel  round  and  round, 
Chattered    and    gnashed,    and     stamped    the 

ground, 

Rolled  his  wild  eyes,  growled  like  a  bear, 
And  thrust  his  fingers  in  his  hair. 

A  true  heroine  of  the  cypress  gloom, 
Now  there  to  lie,  the  Creole  saw  her  doom  — 
A  reckless  madman  had  her  in  his  hand  — 
She  sprang  up  and  did  at  his  elbow  stand, 
And  cried   out,    "  Look    sir,    see    my   pretty 

child  1  » 

At  this,  the  raving  specter  grimly  smiled, 
Let   fall  his   cudgel,    muttered    some  strange 

speech, 

And  for  the  babe  his  dreadful  claws  did  reach. 
ft  Have  you  seen  Nanawawa?  "  then  he  cried, 
"  She  died  long  time  ago,  and  then  I  died; 
Who  wrongs  the  red  man,  wrongs  the  race  of 

man; 

You  hurt  my  wigwam  now,  sir,  if  you  can  I  " 
Leeona  answered,  pointing  him  away, 
For  no  auspicious  moment  long  will  stay: 
•'  Your  Nanawawa  lives  in  yonder  glen, 
Make  haste  and  find  her — come  and   tell  me 

then." 
Now   both   hands   in   his   hair   the    madman 

threw, 
Dashed  off  and  laughed,  and  gibbered  as  he 

flew. 

"  Dark  mystery,"  Leeona  leaving,  said, 
"  Hath  in  that  human  waste  her  mansion  made ! 
Ah!  now  within  his  once  love-lighted  breast, 
The  wildest  phantoms  build  their  broody  nest. 
And  that  high  seat   where  wisdom  once    did 

dwell, 

Is  now  inhabited  by  visions  fell 
And  recollections  harassing,  among 
Which,  some  most  dreadful   secret  holds  its 

tongue ! 

And    '  Nanawawa ;  *    love-balmed   name    sur- 
vives — 

His  mind  is  dead,  but  her  sweet  memory  lives ! 
Poor  wretch,  unconscious  of  existence  save 
With  the  loved  dead,  thinks  he's  beyond  the 

grave! 
*  Who  wrongs  the  red  man.'   Why  he  speaks  of 

wrongs, 
To  that  the  secret  of  his  life  belongs ! 


Wrongs!     Wrongs!    Tea,  wrongs!     Of    these  I 

too  do  know, 
The  blight  and  bane  of   earth,  and  source  of 

woe!  " 

Ah!  could  she  but  have  heard  that  madman's 

tale, 

Or  known  the  secret  of  his  bitter  wail  I 
Along  the  Wabash,  once  there  dwelt  a  race 
With  whom  a  wandering  white  man  soon  found 

grace, 

A  heart-felt  welcome  to  their  wigwams  found 
And  heard  his  proud  name,  White  Loon,  shouted 

round; 

He  loved  the  sweetest  daughter  of  the  wild, 
Young  Nanawaua,  a  great  chieftain's  child, 
And  when  he  saw  her  'mid  her  forests  slain, 
He  wandered,  and  was  ne'er  himself  again. 

Now    Rodney's   voice    and    nimble    footsteps 

broke, 

Upon  the  Creole's  ear  as  thus  he  spoke : 
"  Leeona,    here    am    I!     What    were    thosa 

sounds, 

And  what  by  you  with  such  startling  bounds? 
Leeona  told  him;  list'ning  still  he  stood, 
Then  talking  low  they  slowly  left  the  wood, 
Began  their  steps  toward  a  Northern  clime, 
And  looked  on  Florida  for  their  last  time. 


CANTO  T. 

THE  RUNAWAY. 

Awake,  my  muse,  yon  goodly  sights  among 
The  land  of  Boone   and   Kenton  claims   my 

song. 

Thro1  other  scenes  our  lovers  take  their  flight, 
With  hopeful  steps  to  greet  our  eager  sight. 
Lo  1  where  yon  pleasant  valleys  meet  the  eyes, 
And  goodly  hills  with  stately  forests  rise! 
Here,  as  we  pass,  along  our  cheerful  way 
Great  farms  adjoining,  stretch  in  green  array. 
And  great  farm  houses,  looking  dense  shades 

thro', 

And  beauteous  orchards  fill  th'  enlarging  view, 
Thrice  hail  I  proud  land,  whose  genius  boasts  a 

Clay! 

The  Cicero  of  slavery's  palmiest  day, 
The  gifted  champion  of  Compromise, 
Whose  mien  majestic  filled  a  Nation's  eyes ; 
And  on  the  eloquence  of  whose  wise  tongue 
An  august  Senate  in  rapt  silence  hung; 
A  Senate,  too,  whose  fame  no  age  impugns, — 


70 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND    YET   A   MAN, 


Of  Websters,   Randolphs,   Marshals    and   Cal- 

houns. 

And  could  a  land  that  boasts  a  mind  like  this  — 
That  bord'ring  on  the  clime  of  freedom  is — 
Suffer  a  harlot  with  her  whorings  vile 
To  peacefully  pollute  hergea'rous  soil? 
Yes,  green  Kentucky  with  her  native  pride, 
Proclaiming  trust  in  the  great  Crucified, 
Flaunting   her   prestige  in  the    wide  world's 

face, 

Boasting  descent  and  precedence  of  race, 
And  by  the  greatest  of  all  statesmen  led, 
Shared  the  pollutions  of  a  slavish  bed. 
All  o'er  her   fields,  the  bloodhound's  savage 

bay 

Pressed  the  poor  sable  trembling  runaway, 
And  sometimes  by  the  home  of  Henry  Clay ! 
In  all  her  woods,  the  wail  of  wild  distress 
Was  heard,  as  tattered  starving  wretchedness 
Fled  in  the  shrieking  wrath  of  wintery  storm ; 
Wrapping  herself  in  rags  to  keep  her  warm ! 
Can  I  forget  the  tears  a  parent  shed 
When  her  dear  hand  she  placed  upon  my  head, 
And  me  embracing,  tremulously  said : 
"  My  heart  is  sick  when'er  the  sad  winds  blow, 
And  all  the  earth  is  covered  deep  with  snow ; 
Ah  1 1  remember,  when  I  was  a  child, 
The  night  was  dark,  the  howling  winds  were 

wild, 
The   wintery   earth   with  spotless  snow  was 

white, 

When  to  our  door  there  came  a  footstep  light. 
We  opened,  and  a  strange  black   woman's  face 
Looked  in ;  she  held  a  child  in  her  embrace 
And  said:   "Ize  nearly  froz  to  def,  Oh  wont 
You  let  me  in?  Oh!  don't  say  no!  Oh  don't!" 
She  came  in,  but  ere  we  had  said  a  word, 
Her  master's  voice  was  in  the  cabin  heard ! 
She  knew  the  sound,  her  babe  close   to  her 

drew, 

And  back  into  the  night  and  tempest  flew. 
The  morning  came,  and  weary  miles  away, 
Covered  with  snow  the  lifeless  mother  lay! 
But  in  her  arms  the  babe  alive  did  sleep, 
And  when  discovered,  woke  but  did  not  weep! 
And  lo!  uncovered  to  the  blushing  light, 
The  mother's  face  was  black — the  babe's  was 

white!" 

I  love  Kentucky;  tho*  she  merit  scorn 
I  can't  despise  the  land  where  I  was  born. 
Her  name  I  cherish,  and  expect  to  see 
The  day  when  all  her  sons  shall  cherish  me. 
Her  sins  are  black  but  have  in  common  been 


With  other  sisters'  whose  sins  we  have  seen. 
Yes,  I  will  pray  for  that  good  time  to  come 
When  I  can  say :  Kentucky  is  my  home. 
And  this  I  now  ask  at  my  country's  hand, 
If  I  must  die  in  some  far  distant  land, 
Then  let  my  countrymen  when  I  am  dead, 
Where  I  was  born  make  my  eternal  bed. 

But  here  our  lovers  are  again ; 

Awake,  my  muse  thy  wonted  strain! 

The  hounds  at  day-break  struck  a  trail 

In  deep  Green  river'slonely  vale, 

And  thro'  the  dusk  of  dewy  morn, 

Echoed  the  hunter's  rousing  horn. 

"What  is  it?"  flew  from  tongue  to  tongue, 

As  to  his  horse  each  rider  sprung. 

A  moment  in  their  middles  still, 

They  heard  the  baying  on  the  hill 

Not  far  away  and  full  well  knew 

A  runaway  before  them  flew. 

The  chase  began,  the  horses  dashed 

Away,  and  thro'  the  bushes  crashed 

Like  birds  that  flutter  on  the  wing 

All  thro'  the  wild  copse  scattering. 

Each  horseman  pressing  for  the  lead 

Bore  on  and  on  with  champing  speed. 

On,  on  and  on,  and  on,  o'er  hills, 

And  winding  valleys,  leaping  rills 

And  fallen  trees  like  startled  hinds, 

Wild  as  a  flood,  and  swift  as  winds. 

The  hounds'  loud  clamor  rolled  and  broke 

Morn's  drowsy  stillness,  and  awoke 

The  sleepy  hills  that  answered  back 

The  lusty  tonguing  of  the  pack. 

Within  his  quiet  farmhouse  wood, 

The  early  rustic  list'ning  stood, 

The  early  plowman  in  his  lane, 

Paused,  listened,  and  moved  on  again; 

Surmised,  went  on,  and  paused,  surmised, 

And  at  the  loud  hounds  stood  surprised ; 

As  o'er  the  fences  passing  near, 

He  heard  them  in  their  wild  career. 

The  hounds'  loud  tongues  upon  the  breeze 

Now  Rodney  heard,  as  if  the  trees 

Were  yearning  in  their  sympathy, 

And  stretched  and  sighed  and  whispered  "  fly." 

And  fly  he  did,  and  as  away  he  sped, 

Soon  of  the  pack  a  length'ning  space  ahead ; 

His  nimble  limbs  grown  strong  by  punishment, 

Bore  manly  up  as  on  and  on  he  went, 

O'er  fences  high,  and  ditches  deep  he  leapt, 

Skimmed  level  fields  and  thro'  the  briars  crept, 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


71 


Now  pricked  by  these  and  now  by  the  wild  wan- 
ton thorn. 

And  now  by  knotty  bamboos  hung  and  torn, 
His  footsteps  soon  had  gained  a  wooded  bight, 
Where  fields  and  houses  all  were  out  of  sight; 
He  paused    to   listen,  heard  his  heart's  quick 

beat, 

And  thought  it  was  the  sound  of  horses'  feet. 
Another  instant  and  the  flying  slave, 
Was  trying  if  his  legs  could  well  behave. 
Thro*  a  strange  forest's  darkling  shades  he  ran, 
Six  miles  or  more  from  where  his  flight  began, 
Sometimes  along  the  wild  boar's  narrow  way, 
Sometimes  where  wolves  in  midday  covert  lay. 
Ere  long  he  heard  the  fierce  hounds  on  his  rear, 
Baying  out  inbred  hate,  and  closing  near. 
Loud  in  the  distance  angry  signals  wound, 
And  furious  yells  urged  on  the  flying  hound. 
While  oaths  were  uttered  on  the  morn's  still 

air, 
Enough  to  hush  the  jungle's  roaring  lair. 

Now  Rodney,  bursting  from  the  wood, 

An  instant  on  the  high  cliffs  stood, 

And  gazed  upon  Green  river's  flood, 

That  tossed  and  growled  and  rolled  beneath, 

Like  torments  in  the  vaults  of  death. 

The  rocks  look'd  down  with  dizzy  awe, 

And  Rodney  leant  back  as  he  saw. 

Few  moments  more  the  worst  must  bring; 

For  now  the  worst  had  poised  its  wing  I 

The  hounds  are  on  him !     "  Save !  oh  save !  " 

Right  downward  leaping  cries  the  slave, 

But  not  into  a  watery  grave ! 

Through  branches  tearing  as  he  goes, 

He  leaves  his  terror-stricken  foes! 

With  arms  of  steel  he  meets  the  wave, 

He  grapples  with  the  dizzy  tide, 

Turns  downwards  where  the  cliffs  doth  hide 

Him,  then  with  strokes  manful  to  see, 

He  pulls  for  life  and  liberty. 

Meanwhile  the  hounds  have  ceased  to  bay. 

The  hunters  look  and  turn  away, 

And  "  Ah  I  he's  drowned ! "  all  join  to  say. 

Three  nights  or  more  curtain  the  skies, 
And  now  we  turn  our  weary  eyes 
To  where  the  Creole  mother  flies. 
Thro'  dangers  led  by  friends  at  night, 
By  day  concealed  from  mortal  sight, 
Thus  far,  secure  has  been  her  flight. 

A  storm  was  low'ring,  and  the  sun  was  low, 
The  Creole's  weary  steps  were  sad  and  slow, 


The  air  grew  sightless,  and  the  fields  were  still, 
The  woods  were  restless  on  the  gloomy  hill. 
All   nature    trembles!      Lo!    the    cloud-folds 

break, 

The  mountains  reel  and  all  their  thunders  wake, 
And  fretful  lightnings  dance  on  every  peak, 
With  tongues  of  flame  terrific  glee  to  speak, 
The  startled  clouds  flee  out  into  the  deep 
Of   troubled   night;   and  headlong  down  each 

steep 
Rush   dizzy  torrents  from  the  flood-drenched 

hills, 

And  foam  along  the  overflowing  rills. 
But  hark!  in  all  this  storm  a  woman's  wail ! 
A  mother's  anguish  doth  the  ear  assail! 
Beneath  yon  beetling  rocks,  oh  raise  thine  eyes, 
To  where  Leeona  lifts  her  tender  cries! 
See  now  she  sinks  into  the  cliff's  embrace, 
And  up  to  heaven  turns  her  entreating  face 
In  tearful  beauty !     Hark !  for  help  she  cries ! 
And  thunders  answer  from  the  wrathful  skies ! 
Between  the  surges  of  tumultuous  winds, 
Her  voice  a  passage  thro*  the  tempest  finds. 
"Oh  God!  my  child  I  my  child!"  she  wails  dis- 

trest, 

And  clasps  the  tender  sorrow  to  her  breast. 
Oh  1  Heaven,  can'st  thou  thus  be  pitiless, 
And  hear,  unmoved,  the  cry  of  my  distress! 
Cause  thy  rebellious  winds  to  war  no  more, 
The  loud  disturbers  of  a  nightly  shore ! 
Ah!  how  the  torrents  now  are  pouring  down! 
Must   now  the  whole    earth   wash   away    and 

drown? 

The  rain  has  ceased ;  but  the  belabored  wood 

Yet  waves  and  trembles  in  a  troubled  mood. 

The  frantic  Creole  lifts  a  piercing  cry, 

Hoping  to  rouse  some  woodsman  dwelling 
nigh; 

But  in  the  bluffs  above  her  wolves  reply. 

"Oh!  Heaven,"  shrinking  in  the  rock  she 
gasps, 

And  in  her  arms  her  infant  tighter  clasps, 

"The  wolves  are  howling,  Ah!  What  shall  I 
do? 

Beset  by  beasts  and  human  monsters  too  I" 

Then  like  some  doe  when  dogs  and  horn  sur- 
round, 

That  starts,  stops,  listens,  starts  with  sudden 
bound, 

Flies  from  her  covert,  leaps  rock,  fence  and 
hedge, 

And  leaves  the  baying  terrors  of  the  sedge ; 

Right  so  Leeona  stops,  and  starts,  and  leaps, 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A    MAN. 


And    bounding    onward    leaves    the    howling 

steeps. 

The  flashing  heavens  make  her  footing  good 
In   darksome    paths,    through    the    abodeless 

wood, 

As  on  she  flies,  a  spirit  of  the  night, 
But  knows  not  where  her  heaven-assisted  flight. 

Day  came  —  an  ugly,  wet  and  sluggish  day  — 
When  in  the  woods,  far  on  the  Creole's  way, 
A  band  of  sun-browned  cleavers  she  beheld, 
Who,    near   their   lonely    homes  the    forests 

felled. 
Their  great  rough  arms,  as  rough  as  oak  limbs 

are, 

Dropt  on  their  knees,  and  to  their  elbows  bare ; 
Propt  up  their  chins,  as  from  their  logs  they 

gazed 

Upon  the  fleeing  woman  sore  amazed. 
And  when  she  came  to  them  with  tales  of  woe, 
They  pressed  around  her  eagerly  to  know 
From  whence  she  was,  and  whither  she  would 

go. 

And  then  they  grouped  and  muttered  to  them- 
selves, 
Smote    on   their   breasts,    and     seized     their 

pond'rous  helves, 

And  breathing  out  a  gale  of  oaths  and  threats, 
They  led  her  to  their  humble  forest  seats. 

Of  how  the  Creole,  by  these  woodsmen's  aid, 

Her  further  flight  toward  Ohio  made ; 

Of  how  she  wandered  two  long  months,  beset 

By  shrewd  suspicions,  and  by  mistrust  met, 

By  day  concealed,  by  night  hurried  along, 

Must  not  prolong  the  burden  of  song, 

But  raise  thine  eyes  to  where  the  verging  land 

Of  Bondage  touches  Freeeom's  holier  strand. 

Along  the  cheerless  West,  deceitful  rays 
A  cold  sun  kindles  to  a  feeble  blaze. 
And  leafless  woods  send  up  their  angry  bowl, 
As  coming  down  upon  them  with  a  scowl, 
The  icy  Winter,  blowing  blasts  doth  stand, 
And  shake  their  shrieking  tops  from  hand  to 
hand. 

But  hark !  is  that  the  moaning  of  a  gale  — 
What  sound  is  that  within  yon  leafless  vale? 
Draw  nearer,  listen,  now  it  rises  high, 
Now   lower  sinks,  recedes,    and  now   comes 

nigh. 

'Tis  not  the  blast  of  all  its  mildness  shorn? 
Ah  I  no,  His  poorLeeona  that  dost  mourn! 


See  where  on  yonder  naked  rock  she  stands, 
And  holds  her  tattered  garments  in  her  hands ; 
Scarce  able  to  rescue  them  from  the  wind, 
That  flings  them,  with  her  streaming  locks  be- 

hind; 
Unwraps  her  perfect  limbs,  that   white    and 

bare, 

Empurple  in  the  bitter  Northern  air. 
From  her  bare  feet  blood  trickles  to  the  stone  I 
Ah  God!  Why  is  she  there?    Why  thus  alone? 

Ah!  driven  e'en  from  pity's  poor  embrace 

A  lone  sweet  exile  of  the  Creole  race ! 

By  heaven  forsaken,  spurned  by  the  heartless 

earth, 

As  if  too  wicked  to  deserve  a  birth; 
By  native  streams  no  more  in  peace  to  rove, 
And  hear  the  music  of  the  palmy  grove ; 
No  more  to  gather  fruits  of  luscious  growth, 
And  pluck  the  sweet  flowers  of  the  sunny  South! 
How  can  she  meet  the  fierce  wrath  of  the  North, 
Houseless  and  clotheless,  thus  to  wander  forth? 
Ah!  Ask  you?    Turn  to  where  yon  hounds  pur- 
sue, 

And  circle  swift  the  clam'ring  forests  thro'. 
Hark!  how  the  horns  resound  upon  her  rear, 
Oh!  heaven  save  her !  Is  no  helper  near? 
Must  she  beneath  the  angry  tide  be  borne, 
Or  by  the  savage  hounds  be  seized  and  torn? 

Beyond  the  river  is  a  fisher's  hut, 
Close  in  a  cove  beneath  the  forests  shut 
Beyond  the  hut  a  narrow  path  climbs  o'er 
The  crescent  bluffs,  and  winds  along  the  shore. 
Within  this  hut  Ben  Guildern  sat  all  day, 
Mending  his  nets  and  lines,  and  smoked  away. 
He  dreamed  of  this  wide  world  and  all  its  cares, 
Its  hopes  and  doubts,  its  pleasures,  pains  and 

snares : 

Of  man's  pilgrimage  to  a  better  bourne, 
Where  toil  shall  rest,  and  *'  man  shall  cease  to 

mourn." 

He  dreampt  of  other  days  and  faces  gone, 
Ere  he  was  left  to  pass  thro'  life  alone ; 
Of  pleasant  tasks  his  manly  arms  had  wrought, 
Of  slumbers  sweet  that  toil  remitting  brought; 
And  of  the  many  times  he  climbed  that  hill, 
And  found  a  wife  and  children  waiting  still ; 
And  supper  smoking,  and  a  ready  plate, 
When  all  day's  luckless  toil  had  made  him  late. 
"All  gone!"  within  his  wave-tossed  soul  he 

sighs, 
And  o'er  the  waters  lifts  his  tear-dimmed  eyes. 


"'Twas  sunset  in  the  hills  along  the  winding  Tennessee." 
"Drifted  Leaves."— Page  89. 


NOT   A   MAN,   AND   YET   A   MAN. 


73 


"  A  cold  and  blustry  night  the  boat  went  down, 
And    my    poor    wife    and   boys  were   left  to 
drown!  " 

Lo !  now  a  signal  from  the  other  shore  — 

A  woman  beckons  him  to  set  her  o'er; 

He  hears  the  hounds,  and  not  a  word  is  said, 

A  fugitive  he  sees  imploring  aid ; 

His  boat  is  launched,  and  from  her  moorings 

thrown, 

The  tide  awaits  her,  rolling  up  and  down, 
A  moment  near  the  shore  she  slow  doth  move, 
Awaits  another  and  another  shove ; 
This  way  and  that  the  swirling  flood  she  ties, 
Ventures  and  darts,  and  o'er  the  current  flies, — 
So  when  the  speedy  roe  is  brought  to  bay, 
Where  rising  cliffs  oppose  her  woody  way, 
Within  some  nook  embraced  by  rocks  and  logs, 
She  turns  her  head  upon  the  bristling  dogs, 
Bends  here  and  there  until  her  way  is  clear, 
Flies  through  her  foes  and  leaves  them  on  the 

rear,  — 

Seized  by  the  heaving  tide,  the  feath'ry  boat 

Midway  the  river  down  begins  to  float, 

But  Guildern  with  his  strong  hands  grasps  the 

oars, 

Plies  all  his  strength,  and  up  the  current  soars. 
The  angry  billows  clamor  at  his  keel 
And  on  his  prow  in  sudden  fury  wheel, 
Till,  at  an  angle  of  a  good  degree 
Above  the  hound-pressed  Creole  pausing,  he 
Wheels   short  his  flight,  athwart  the  current 

shaves, 

And  shoreward  glides  before  the  rolling  waves. 
So  when  the  untiring  mistress  of  the  winds 
Discovers  in  the  covert  feeding  hinds, 
Midway  she  meets  the  current  of  the  skies, 
And  by  its  adverse  strength  succeeds  to  rise, 
Till  high  above  the  destined  point  she  swings, 
Drops   from  the  clouds  and  shaves  on   level 

wings. 
The  shore  is  touched,  the  Creole  boards  the 

boat 

With  child  in  arms,  and  all  are  now  afloat. 
Old  Guildern  speaks  not,  but  plies  all  his  skill, 
And  looks  the  firm  monition,  "  now  be  still." 
Leeona's  heart  with  hope  and  awe  is  swelled, 
She  meets  an  eye  that  danger  never  quelled, 
A  face  as  rough  as  wintry  hills,  but  bland, 
An  arm  of  massive  strength,  but  gentle  hand, 
And  mien  of  dreadful  soberness,  that  braves 
The  sullen  fury  of  the  wind  and  waves. 
The  boat  is  now  far  out  into  the  stream, 


And  as  the  quick  oars  in  the  low  sun  gleams  — 
Rides  up  and  down  the  wave,  and  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  level  swims  towards  the  farther  shore. 
Ah!  nobly  bearing  up  her  precious  freight, 
How  steadily  she  rocks  beneath  the  weight ! 
Her  keel  has  touched,  it  cleaves  the  yellow  sand, 
Thank  God!  thank  God!  they  land,  they  land! 
they  land ! 

Within  a  fisher's  hut  all  night, 
And  leaving  by  the  early  light 
Of  bleak  December's  lurid  morn, 
The  Creole  passes  into  sight, 
Cast  down  and  travel  worn. 

From  naked  hills  loud  shrieked  the  blast, 
And  moaned  along  the  empty  waste, 
And  still  sue  trudged  along  her  way, 
Beneath  a  sky  of  starless  gray. 

Her  infant  shivered  in  the  blast, 

As  houses  strange  she  hurried  past, 

Where  comfort  sat  with  smiling  pride, 

At  labor's  genial  fireside. 

Thus  thro*  the  landscape's  wintry  scorn, 

She  forced  her  steps  till  weary  morn. 

The  cloads  dispersed  as  night  wore  on, 
And  stars  from  glist'ning  fields  looked  down, 
Till  late  the  moon  o'er  hills  arose, 
And  peerless  night  unveiled  her  snows. 
Ah!  bent  and  trembling,  see  that  form, 
Where  sheltering  rocks  oppose  the  storm, 
Chased  like  a  wild  beast,  with  her  young 
To  yawning  caves  the  rocks  among ; 
Her  infant  in  her  arras  is  prest, 
Hushed  are  its  cries  —  it  seems  to  rest. 
Where  vagrant  swine  their  beds  have  made 
Of  leaves  and  branches  from  the  shade, 
The  mother  stoops  to  rest  its  head, 
When  lo!  she  starts  — her  child  is  dead! 
Her  wounded  bosom  feels  the  dart, 
A  ghastly  sorrow  tears  her  heart — 
And  fear  assails,  to  leave  she  tries, 
But  stays,  her  babe  embraces,  cries, 
The  cold  cliffs  groan,  and  night  replies. 
The  gorges  murmur  at  the  sound 
And  farm  house  curs  bay  far  around. 

Beside  her  babe  the  mother  kneels, 
With  anguish  dumb  its  cold  hand  feels ; 
Its  pale  cheek  against  hers  is  prest, 
Her  ear  is  leant  upon  its  breast; 
But  hope  is  gone !  and  kind  Heaven  hears 


74 


NOT   A   MAN,   AND   YET   A   MAN. 


Loud  grief  entreating  thro'  her  tears. 
Above  the  cliffs  where  winds  a  country  way, 
A  voice  is  heard  in  cautious  tones  to  say : 
"Leeona!  OhLeeona!  Oh  my  dear  I 
Is  it  my  Ona's  mournful  voice  I  hear?" 
The  Creole  hushed,  afraid  to  trust  her  soul, 
That  felt  a  heavy  burden  from  it  roll, 
She  clasped  her  bosom  in  her  wild  suspense, 
But  now  distincter  heard  the  voice  commence  • 
"Leeona!  Oh,  myOnal  are  you  near?" 
The  Creole  answers,  "Rodney,  I  am  here!'1 
Rodney  had  heard  along  Leeona's  way, 
Of  her  wild  flight,  and  how  pursued  all  day. 
Now  down  the  cliffs  in  breathless  haste  he  flies, 
And  clasps  his  wife,  as  thus  to  him  she  cries : 
"Oh!  see,  dear  Rodney;  see  where  baby  lies!" 

The  bosom  that  had  life-long  sorrow  borne, 
The  heart  which  had  so  long  been  taught   to 

mourn, 

With  real  manly  sympathetic  heaves, 
Bent  o'er  the  corpse  and  raised  it   from  the 

leaves. 

" Poor  harmless  comer!"  then  he  gently  said, 
"  Better  for  thee  that  thy  pure  soul  has  fled 
With  angel  watches  to  the  waiting  skies, 
Where  peace  e'er  flows,  and   happier   climes 

arise. 

Conceived  in  trouble  and  in  sorrow  born, 
Thy  life  was  clouded  in  its  very  morn, 
And  wore  along  with  unpropitious  suns; 
But  to  a  happy  close  at  last  it  runs! 
Sweet  be  thy  rest  upon  this  lonely  shore, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  winds,  no  more 
To  be  awakened  by  sin's  tempest  roar." 
This  said,  to  roll  the  stone  away  he  stoops, 
And  in  its  bed  a  little  grave  he  scoops ; 
Commits  his  tender  burden  to  the  ground, 
In  poor  Leeona's  last  torn  apron  wound. 
She  from  a  mother's  anguish  pours  out  cries, 
Bends  o'er  her  infant  where  entombed  it  lies, 
Its  calm  cheek  moistens  from  her  tender  eyes, 
Its  pale  lips  kisses  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  deeper  sobs  and  turns  to  kiss  once  more 
Till  Rodney's  kindly  touch  she  feels  implore; 
Then  murmurs  "  good-bye,  good-bye,  mamma's 

child," 
And  with  a  loud  wail  leaves  the  sorrowing  wild. 

Here  sadness  ends, 

A  new  sun  lends 

His  beams  to  light  our  way, 

And  pleasant  sights, 

And  fair  delights 


Unite  to  raise  our  lay. 

Where  Freedom  is  what  Freedom  means, 

Our  lovers  pass  to  other  scenes. 


CANTO  VI. 

SUSSEX  VALE,  CANADA. 

Sweet  vale  of  the  Sussex!   thou  pride  of  the 

Queen, 

Whose  life  has  a  reign  of  beneficence  been ; 
The  flow'r  of  Britannia's  possessions  afar 
In  the  cold  land  that   lies  beneath  the  North 

star. 

No  slaveholder's  foot  e'er  polluted  thy  soil, 
No  slave  in  thy  fields  ever  bended  to  toil. 
As  Bunyan's  poor  Christian  who,  fleeing  for  life, 
Left  the  land  of  Destruction  and  children  and 

wife, 

And  saw  as  the  shadow  of  Calv'ry  he  crost, 
That  his  burden  rolled  down  and  forever  was 

lost; 

So,  when  the  poor  fugitive,  foot-sore  and  wan, 
From  the  land  of  oppressors  for  liberty  ran ; 
He  found  that  his  shackles  would  crumble  and 

fall, 
When  he  stood  in  the  shadow  of  proud  Montreal. 

Asylum,  fair  Sussex,  art  thou  of  the  free, 

And  of  all  the  oppressed,  who  to  thy  shades  flee 

From  "the  land  of  the  free,  and  home  of  the 

brave  "  — 
Nay!  land  of  the  bound  and  the  hell  of  the  slave. 

O,  Sussex!  dear  Sussex!  thy  scenes  I  remember 
As  down  thee  I  wander'd  in  russet  September! 
The  gay  tinted  woods  in  the  sunset's  gold 

gleaming, 
The  brook  down  thy  midst  like  a  sheet  of  light 

streaming, 

The  busy  mill  near  it,  and  full  barns  above, 
The  blithest  of  children  at  play  in  the  grove ; 
The  lowing  of  herds,  and  the  milkmaid  calling, 
And  the  tinkling  of  bells   thro'  the    twilight 

falling. 

And  lo!  a  neat  cottage  with  windows  of  green, 
Scarce  through  the  thick  boughs  of  yon  elms  is 

seen! 
There  now  the  free  lovers,  that  once  were  the 

slave, 
The  maid  of  the  rice  swamp  and  Rodney  the 

brave, 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A   MAN. 


75 


Are  dwelling  in  wedlock's  dear  holiest  ties, 
The  objects  of  comment  and  pride  for  all  eyes. 
The  stranger  who   passes  thro'  Sussex  must 

hear 

On  the  lips  of  the  cottager  far  and  near, 
The  love  of  these  new  comers  pointedly  told, 
And  telling  it  over,  it  never  grows  old. 

THE  LITTLE  GREEN  COTTAGE. 

Canadian  farmers  came  oft  to  the  little  green 
cottage, 

To  see  their  new  neighbors  and  hear  them  tell 
over  their  troubles. 

The  tales  of  their  pilgrimage  e'er  to  their 
hearers  had  new  charms; 

And  instances,  once  told,  cloyed  not  in  repeat- 
ing them  over. 

Thus  it  was  that  farmers,  as  rough  as  the  oaks 

in  their  forests, 
But  open,  and  kind,  and  frank  as  the  brooks  in 

their  meadows, 
Came  oft  in  the  twilight  and  sat  in  the  door  of 

the  cottage, 
And  said :  "  We  would  hear  of  the  land  of  the 

poor  sable  bondman." 
And  forward  they  leant,  and  sat  mute  as  they 

heard  the  dark  stories 
That  sully  the  brightness  of  America's  proudest 

endeavors. 
And  regarding  Leeona  with  pity,  they  sighed : 

"  Lord  have  mercy;" 
As  her  words,  soft  and  tender,  fell  on  their  great 

hearts  with  sweet  pathos. 
With  wonder  they  look'd  as  they  heard  of  the 

bayou  and  cane-brake ; 
Their  breasts  smote  and  murmured  to  hear  of 

poor  fugitive  mothers 
Chased  down  by  fierce  bloodhounds,  and  dragged 

from  the  cypress  swamps  bleeding. 
And  their  faces  flamed  red,  and  they  plucked 

their  great  beards  for  resentment, 
To  hear    of   slave-holders    who  bought  pure 

beauty  and  defiled  it; 
Blighting  the  hopes  of  the  sweetest,  the  fairest, 

the  youngest; 
Adorning  their  harems  with  flowers  all  ruined 

but  lovely! 
And  wringing  from  hoar  age's  heart  submission 

to  these  vile  abuses. 
But  they  raised  their  broad  hats,  and  shouted 

and  stamped  with  boist'rous  gladness, 
To  hear  of  Leeona  escaping  with  Rodney  her 

lover. 


Thus  it  was  that  many  an  evening  Rodney's 

friends  came  around  him, 
And  far  went  the  fame  of  the  heroine  of  the 

savannas. 
The  same  brave  Rodney  whose  blows  were  too 

hard  for  the  savage ; 
Whose  feet  were    too   swift,  and  whose  arms 

were  too  strong  for  the  bloodhound, 
In  his  secret  heart  felt  his  whole  life's  fairest 

triumph 
When  he  saw  his  Leeona  the  pride  of  all  the 

great  farmers. 

Certain  was  he  in  his  poverty  and  humble  en- 
deavors ; 

His  bright  little  cottage,  tho'  lowly,  had  its  at- 
tractions — 
Leeona,  the  womanly  model  of  gentleness  lived 

there. 
Not  young  was  she  now,  and  radiant  as  she  was 

aforetime, 

Not  thoughtlessly  shy  and  blushing  with  reluc- 
tance so  fawn-like, 
Her    arms   were    not    smooth    and    round   as 

they    once    were;     her   cheeks   not    so 

ruddy; 
Her  eyes  were  not  so  brilliant,  and  playful  and 

winning ; 
But  softened  by  love,  they  beamed  steadier  and 

overcame  more. 
They  were  not  the  first  stars  that  shine  brightly 

thro'  the  young  twilight, 
But  the  last  sober-beaming  ones  that  patiently 

linger 
Above  the    familiar    wood    that  watches  the 

homes  of  our  childhood. 
She  was  not  the  bright  light  that  once  dazzled 

and  charmed  with  its  brilliance ; 
But  settled  and  modest,  the  amiable  light  of  the 

hearth-stone, 
That  draws  all  hearts  close  around  it,  and  sets 

all  near  ones  to  singing. 

The  wife  of  a  good  man,  content  to  be  his  and 
to  love  him, 

Ambitious  to  rival  herself  in  his  strong  affec- 
tions, 

And  ready  always  to  lay  hold  with  her  hands 
and  be  happy. 

A  good  wife  was  she,  and  loved  all  who  loved 
her  good  husband: 

And  ever  was  ready  to  set  him  in  the  eyes  of 
her  friends 

By  kindness.  Thus  was  she  the  idol  of  Rodney 
and  his  neighbors. 


76 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A   MAN. 


Not  least  among  those  who  frequented  the  little 
green  cottage 

Was  Father  Eppinck,  the  good  priest  of  the  par- 
ish of  Sussex. 

A  great  and  good  man  was  he,  and  a  good  shep- 
herd to  all  true  believers. 

Were  any  by  poverty  shorn  of  the  comforts  of 

this  life, 
His  mantle  of  care  he  threw  round  them,  with 

love  warmed. 
Were  the  young  gone  astray  in  the  dangerous 

wastes  of  transgression, 
He  followed  their  way,  and  returned  with  them 

prest  to  his  bosom, 
Were  the  old  with  woes  pregnant,  and  burdened 

with  great  tribulations, 
He  led  them,  and  gently  pointed  them  to  a  more 

blessed  future. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  came  to  the  home  of  Leeona 

and  Rodney, 
With  treasures  of  kind  words.    He  called  them 

his  two  loving  children, 
And  always  on  leaving,  he  left  them  his  best 

benediction. 
He  too  loved  Leeona,  and  came  to  hear  of  her 

pilgrimage, 

'Twas  a  balmy  afternoon  in  the  joyous  vale  of 

the  Sussex, 
And  the  voices  of  Autumn  were  heard  in  all  of 

the  north  land. 
The  fields  were  shorn  of  their  harvests,  and  the 

golden  sheaves  were  gathered, 
And  stacked  in  the  barn-yards.    The  mill  com- 
plained in  the  valley, 
The  distant  glen  echoed  and  sang  with  the  music 

of  axes, 
And  the  wain  came  down  from  the  deep  woods 

groaning  beneath  its  great  logs. 
The  forests  wore  gay  colors,  but  sighed  and 

were  melancholy. 
Then  father  Eppinck,  as  he  sate  in  the  door  of 

the  cottage, 
Lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  the  fair  vale  of 

the  Sussex. 
He  saw  the  sweet  tokens  of  peace  that  appeared 

in  the  heavens ; 
And  he  heard  the  voice  of  contentment  going 

up  from  the  valley; 
The  sweet  words  of  plenty  he  heard,  and  the 

loud  shouts  of  strong  health; 
And  then  he  raised  his  voice  and  said :    "  O  my 

God,  I  bless  Thee  I 


For  the  rolling  seasons  and  the  full  year,  I  mag- 
nify thee ! 
I  thank  Thee  for  the  hills  and  the  high  rock,  and 

the  great  forest. 
I  thank  Thee  for  the  pleasant  valleys  and  their 

full  fields  of  rich  grain,  — 
For  their  flowing  streams,  and  the  burdened 

orchards  on  their  green  banks. 
I  thank  Thee  for  plenty,  for   health,    and  for 

homes;  but,  oh  my  God! 
I  extol  Thee  for  freedom,  the  hope  of  the  church 

of  the  Savior. 
Here  peace  spreads  her  white  wings,  and  sun 

never  looks  on  a  bondman. 
Here  earth  yields  her  increase,   and  no  slave's 

sweat  ever  falls  upon  it. 
Oh  God,  I  bless  Thee  for  Canada  and  the  Crown 

of  England!" 

When  Father  Eppinck  had  finished  this  saying, 

with  kind  words 
He  turned  to    Leeoua   and    Rodney    and  said : 

"  Now  I  leave  you. 

I  go  up  to  Montreal  by  the  first  coach  to-mor- 
row. 
If  the  morning  be  fair,  I  hope  to  be  off  before 

the  cock  crow. 
A  month  shall   I  be    gone,  and  now  that  the 

Autumn  is  far  spent, 

My  coming  to  Sussex  again  will  be  in  the  Win- 
ter. 
What  time  I  am  in  Montreal,  I  will  be  in  the 

house  of  a  merchant, 
A  good  man  whose  wealth  has  kept  pace  with 

his  increasing  goodness; 
A  Christian,  whose  devotion  to  Christ  and  his 

holy  Apostles 
In  alms  deeds  is  shown.  Samaritan-like  he  goes 

forward 
Into  the  highways  of  life,  and  gathers  up  the 

wounded, 
And  he  bears  them  in  his  arms  to  love's  inn  and 

cares  for  them; 
And  when  nakedness  cries  in  the  street,  he  hears 

her,  and  helps  her, 
And  asks  not:  "  But  why  are  you  naked?    Why 

did  you  not  save  in  the  harvest?" 

And  his  lovely  wife,  the  center  of  Montreal  cir- 
cles, 

A  brave  hearted,  noble,  merciful  and  fair  life 
consort, 

Throws  around  him  the  arms  of  encouragement 
in  all  his  good  deeds. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


77 


She  is  happiest  always  among  those  that  her 

hands  have  made  happy. 
Her  heart  is  a  fountain  of  kind  words,  and  like 

Aquila  of  old, 
She  delights  in  the  church  of  God,  in  Christ  and 

his  holy  Apostles. 
Her  accomplishments  bring  after  her  a  train  of 

admirers; 
Her  beauty  a  train  of  worshipers,  her  charity   a 

host 

Of  grateful  lovers ;  while  her  affectionate  fidelity 
Lights  up  her  home  so  that  her  husband  says : 

"  A  star  is  Dora. '  " 

Now  Rodney  hung  his  head  when  this  last  word, 

Dora,  fell  on  his  ears; 
And  as  he  bade  Father  Eppinck  adieu,  he  looked 

up  and  sighed; 
And  the  light  of  recollections  flashed  across  his 

manly  face 
Like  a  burst  of  sun  that  flashes  thro*  clouds  and 

falls  on  a  great  rock. 


ONE  SNOWY  NIGHT. 

The  laughter  of  sleigh  bells  was  heard  on  the 

lips  of  the  snow  storm 
All  day  long,  and  passers  were  scarcely  seen 

thro'  the  falling  flakes 
Hurriedly  going,  wrapped  close,  and  one  not 

speaking  to  another. 
'Twas  bitter   cold,  and    the  stiffened   forests 

tossed  in  the  northern  blast ; 
And  the  great  old  pines,  as  the  gale  smote  their 

snowy  heads,  grumbled, 
And  seemed  in  their  anguish  to  mutter:  "  Let 

loose  our  hair  and  our  whiskers!" 
The  slow  wreaths  of   smoke  curled  dreamily 

thro'  the  still  branches 
That,  burdened  with  snow,  stooped  down  and 

were  sad-hearted  and  silent. 
All  sounds  of  the  barn-yard  were  hushed  in  the 

chill  breath  of  Winter; 

The  cottage  was  still,  and  within  doors  the  cot- 
ter kept  quiet. 

Now  nightfall  came,  and  still  the  flakes  were 

coming  down  thickly. 
"  How  it  snows,"  said  Leeona,  as  she  shut  the 

neat  door  of  her  cottage. 
Then  she  drew  her  chair  near  Rodney,  and  sat 

before  a  warm  fire  of  logs. 
This  night  the  little  green  cottage  was  unusually 

cozy: 


The  cat  on  the  rug  purred  low  to  the  slumber- 
ing puppy, 

Who  yelped  in  a  dream,  and  nipped  at  the  heels 
of  a  rabbit. 

The  light  of  the  fire-place,  streaming  across 
the  clean  hearth, 

Glared  on  the  walls,  and  flashed  from  the 
chairs  and  the  tables. 

Now  thus  to  her  lord  spoke  the  heroine  of  tbt 

Savannas : 
"  The  approach  of  the  Christmas  throws  tb« 

shadows  of  mirth  into  Sussex. 
Never  before  was  there  such  buying  of  presents 

among  us; 
Never  before  such  love  without  dissimulation." 

Of  a  sudden  Leeona  hushed  and  fixed  her  eyes 

upon  Rodney. 
"Whoa!"  cried  a  voice  at  the  door,  as  rough 

as  the  oaths  of  a  seaman, — 
"  Still,  Sorrel!"  and  a  sleigh  had  stopped  at  the 

door  of  the  cottage, 
Leeona  rose  up  quickly,  but  Rodney  sat  still 

and  listened 
Till  she  had  opened  the  door  and  looked  out  in 

the  darkness. 
A  dim  lamp  in  the  driver's  hand  streamed  thro* 

the  falling  snow-flakes 
And  discovered  two  men  in  the  sleigh  and  one 

woman. 

The  men   in    their   great  coats  wrapped  dis- 
mounted, and  then  the  woman, 
Muffled  in  heavy  furs  and  veiled  stepped  down 

between  them ; 
When  the  driver  reined  his  horses  and  dashed 

away  in  the  silence. 

The  strangers  entered  the  door  and  Father  Ep- 
pinck before  them, 
And  bowing,  he  said :  "  These  are  my  friends  of 

whom  I  spake  aforetime." 

Rodney  arose  and  stood  erect  in  speechless 
wonder  and  silence, 

As  the  tall  and  lovely  form  of  Dora,  the  heroine 
of  Saville, 

Stood  in  the  midst  of  the  floor  of  his  humble 
dwelling,  and  reached 

The  white  hand  of  recognition,  saying,  with  the 
sweetness  of  other  days : 

"Do  mine  eyes  behold  thee,  oh  Rodney,  my 
dearest  benefactor! 

I  have  heard  of  you  here  and  have  come  to  re- 
move you  to  Montreal. 


78 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND   YET   A   MAN. 


My  home  is  a  home  for  you,  and  the  days  of 
your  toil  are  ended." 

For  the  tears  of  gladness  and  gratitude  the  manly 
hero 

Of  a  thousand  trials  hard  could  not  speak,  but 
he  seized  the  small  hand 

Extended,  and  wept  a  benediction  of  tears  upon 
it  and  kissed  it. 

His  great  stern  face  of  noble  valor  and  man- 
hood, 

Was  now  lighted  up  with  a  glow  exceeding  por- 
trayal, 

And  in  its  effulgence  approaching  those  who 
stand  in  white  robes 

Ever  within  the  tidal  glory  of  the  Throne 
Eternal. 

There  were  greetings  then,  and  the  joy  of  all 
hearts  was  running  over ; 

And  their  countenances  all  shone  with  the  light 
of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 


CANTO  Til. 

THE  END  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER. 

A  tall  brave  man  of  gray  three  score, 
The  sable  columns  rode  before, 
The  knightliest  of  the  knightly  throng, 
The  bravest  of  the  brave  and  strong, 
Who  on  the  field  of  Nashville  stood 
To  meet  the  splendid  hosts  of  Hood; 
When  noble  Thomas,  firm  and  brave, 
Against  the    armed  master    threw  the    former 
slave. 

Rodney  had  left  his  home  in  foreign  lands, 

And  put  his  life  into  our  country's  hands, 

His  struggling  kindred's  conquests  proud    to 

share, 

For  he  beheld  acknowledged  manhood  there. 
And  this  the  grandest  day  that  ever  rose 
Upon  his  life,  near  its  eventful  close 
Was  bringing  with  it  recollections  sweet, 
That  made  his  old  heroic  heart  with  youth's  emo 

tions  beat. 

This  country's  standard  stained  and  battle -tornt 
In  sable  hands  o'er  fearless  borne, 
Streamed  in  the  setting  sun's  deep  golden  light, 
Kindred  of  Heaven  in  her  blazon  bright. 
Victorious  drums  were  rolling  on  his  ear; 
The  bugle's  wail  was  ringing  loud  and  clear, 


Thunder  of  wheels  was  in  the  distance  roaring, 
And  into  camp  the  victor  hosts  were  pouring. 

Then  Rodney  saw  upon  his  left  and  right, 
The  two  sons  who  had  ridden  thro'  the  flght 
With  him  —  the  two  sons  that  Leeona  gave 
The  country  that  had  spurned  her  as  a  slave.  — 
He  saw  these  sons,  and  prouder  felt  than  he 
Who  on  the  field  refused  sword  of  Lee. 

This  was  the  day  when  Southern  chivalry 
Beheld  the  negro  clothed  in  liberty, 
Step  from  the  shadow  of  his  centuries 
Of  bondage  and  dejection;   lift  his  eyes, 
And  to  the  verge  of  august  manhood  rise.  — 
The  day    that  heard  the    negro,    scarred    and 

maimed, 
'Mid  sovereign  battle's  hosts  a  man  proclaimed. 

The  hosts  of  Sherman  marching  to  the  sea, — 
A  splendid  Nemesis  of  Liberty; 
Swept  like  a  thunder  storm  that  in  its  wrath 
Shakes  the  dark  hills  and  in  its  roaring  path 
Treads  mighty  forests  down.    The  Nation  then 
Lifted  her  hands  to  Heaven  and  praised  the  men 
Who  fought  their  way  by  hard  incessant  blows, 
From  where  the  hills  of  Cumberland  arose, 
And  at  the  Northern  gate  of  Slavedom  held 
Their  watch,  to  where  the  Mexic  Ocean  swelled ; 
Wrenching  their  victories  from  brave  hands  and 
true 

As  e'er  on  foe  the  steel  of  battle  drew ; 

The  Alpine  strength  of  strongholds  beating 
down, 

And  sweeping  from  their  path  each  hostile  town. 

Then  fair  applause  clapped  her  white  hands  and 
cheered 

And  bright-faced  greetings  every  where  ap- 
peared, 

Gray  bearded  gratitude  bowed  on  his  knees, 

And  cheering  cities  flamed  with  jubilees. 

But  soon  a  change  came  o'er  the  Nation's  face, 
The  light  of  mirth  to  clouds  of  fear  gave  place. 
The  chiming  bells  with  jubilance  that  rung, 
Now  hushed  their  throats  or  spoke  with  doleful 

tongue. 

In  mazy  dance  mirth  held  her  tripping  feet, 
And  music  soft  suppressed  her  murmurs  sweet; 
Sad-faced  religion  sought  the  church  once  more, 
And  faith  went  back  to  do  her  first  works  o'er. 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET    A    MAN. 


79 


The  gallant  Hood,  intrepid  Sherman  knew 
Would  sweep  the  Slaveholder's  dominions  thro'  i 
So,  as  that  military  comet  went 
To  Southward,  Hood  his  swift  march  North- 
ward bent. 

The  Union  struck  at  proud  Rebellion's  heart; 
Rebellion  aimed  at  her  same  vital  part, 
And  doubtless  had  a  wound  most  painful  made 
Had  not  the  Union's  negro  arm  displayed 
Such  valiant  strength  in  warding  off  the  blow, 
And  striking  down  the  fierce  and  gallant  foe. 

As  Rodney  rode  to  camp  this  glorious  day, 
He  heard  a  dying  soldier  by  the  way, 
Half  hidden  'mong  his  mangled  comrades  pray. 
His  tortured  soul  of  ruin  conscious  cried, 
Raved  thro'  its  mansion  dark  from  side  to  side, 
Rose  to  the  eye  and  stood  with  dreadful  glare* 
Ran  to  the  heart,  and  fluttered,  groaning  there, 
And  shuddering  in  the  awful  shades  of  woe, 
Sank  down  in  mortal  dread  and  pleaded  not  to 

go. 

As  hope  forever  bade  her  host  farewell, 
Now  mem'ry  came  into  the  soul's  dark  cell, 
And  told  the  wrongs  of  unrepented  yore, 
Manacled  her,  and  chained  her  to  the  floor. 
Remorse  then  followed    with    the    criminal's 

scourge, 
Her  pris'tier  seized,  and  dragged  towards  the 

verge 

Of  mis'ry  bottomless,  and  in  the  smoke 
Of  black  torment,  that  rolled  and  spread  and 

broke, 
Laid  on  her  lash  of  scorpions  with  heavy  stroke. 

"Oh,  Lord!  "  the  sufferer  cries,  "have  mercy 

now! 

I  would  pray  right,  Lord  Jesus  teach  me  how ! 
Ah!  I've  insulted  Thee,  I  know,  I  own, 
But  Savior,  make  thy  boundless  mercies  known ; 
Oh,  life  misspent,  could  I  but  now  recall  I 
Leeona,  Rodney,  ah  I  forgive  me  all. 
Help!  water!  water!  water,  or  I  die!  " 
"Who's  here?"  cries  Rodney,  quickly  turning 

by. 

The  dying  man  stares  on  the  speaker  brave, 
In  ghastly  silence,  as  the  whisper  "  save!" 
Falls  from  his  lips;  then  like  a  madman  yells, 
And  rolls  his  painful  balls  within  their  cells. 
Rodney  forgets  the  wrongs  of  other  years ; 
As  wretchedness*  bitter  cry  he  hears ; 
The  wounds  that  with  their  gushing  life  appeal 
To  heav'n  he  sees,  and  can't  his  tears  conceal. 
He  kneels  upon  the  ground  where  Aylor  lies, 


His  canteen  to  his  quiv'ring  lips  applies, 
The  sinking  soldier  in  his  arms  doth  rest, 
And  lean  his  throbbing  head  upon  his  breast. 
Now  stooping  o'er  him  Rodney  hears  the  cry: 
"  Rodney,  I  know,  forgive  me  ere  I  die! 
Leeona  tell "  — he  fixes  here  his  eyes, 
And  still  in  death,  on  Rodney's  bosom  lies. 

And  now  my  countrymen  let's  bury  all 
Our  blunders  here  beneath  grim  battle's  palL 
Gathered  beneath  our  flag's  heroic  folds, 
While  our  dear  land  all  to  her  bosom  holds, 
Let  us  forget  the  wrongs  of  blue  and  grey, 
In  gazing  on  the  grandeur  of  the  fray. 
Now  let  the  vanquished  with  repentant  face 
Lean  in  the  victor's  merciful  embrace, 
And  let  the  victor,  with  his  strong  arm  heal 
The  bleeding  wounds   that  gape   beneath  his 

steel. 

And  may  no  partial  hand  attempt  a  lay 
Of  praise,  as  due  alone  to  blue  or  grey. 
The  warrior's  wreath  may  well  by  both  be  worn, 
For  braver  foe  than  either  ne'er  was  born. 
They  both  have  marched  to  deathless  victory, 
They  both  have  shown  heroic  misery, 
And  won  the  soldier's  immortality. 
And  where  your  sons  their  battle  lances  drew, 
Fought  not  their  sable  comrades  bravely  too? 
Let  Wagner  answer  'mid  the  reeking  storm, 
That  mingles  with  black  heroes  Shaw's  proud 

form. 

Ask  it  of  Fisher  and  a  thousand  more 
Brave  fields  that  answer  with  their  scenes  of 

gore. 

And  while  America's  escutcheon  bright, 
Is  bathed  in  war-won  Freedom's  glorious  light, 
Forget  it  not,  black  men  were  in  the  fight. 
More  patriotism  Sparta  never  knew, 
A  lance  more  knightly  Norman  never  threw, 
More  courage  never  armed  the  Roman  coasts, 
With  blinder  zeal  ne'er  rode  the  Moslem  hosts, 
And  ne'er  more  stubborn  stood  the  Muscovite, 
Than  stood  the  hated  negro  in  the  fight. 

The  war  was  God-sent,  for  the  battle  blade, 
Around  the  seething  gangrene,  Slavery,  laid, 
By  Heaven's  arm,  this  side  and  that  was  prest, 
Until  the  galling  sore  dropt  from  the  Nation's 

breast. 

War  was  Inevitable,  for  the  crimes 
That  stained  our  hands  (and  in  the  olden  times 
Engendered)  now  were  Constitutional, 
And  spread  throughout  the  Nation's  body  all. 
Deep  rooted  where  the  vital  currents  meet 


80 


NOT   A   MAN,    AND    YET   A   MAN. 


Around  the  heart  of  government,  their  seat 

Evaded  Legislation's  keenest  skill, 

Or  bent  the  stoutest  edge  of  human  will : 

'Twas  then  that  God  the  raving  Nation  threw 

Upon  her  own  war  lance  and  from  her  drew, 

By  accidental  providence,  a  flood 

Of  old  diseases  that  lurked  in  her  blood. 

Whom    Moses    witnessed    'mid    old    Sinai's 

smoke,  — 
Whose  arm  from  Judah's  neck  had  torn  the 

yoke, 

And  which  had  broken  Egypt's  mighty  pride, 
And  with  his  chariots  strown  the  Red  Sea  tide ; 
Which  stripped  the  golden  crimes  from  Babel's 

throne, 

And  made  His  pow'r  to  Baal's  adorers  known, — 
He  stood  among  us  and  His  right  arm  bared 
To  show  His  ways  by  seers  of  old  declared. 
While  millions  trembled  at  Oppression's  nod, 
Oppression  sank  beneath  the  touch  of  God. 
Line  upon  line  the  centuries  had  wrought, 
And  precept  upon  precept  vainly  taught, 
The  prophets  had  of  old  been  heard  to  cry, 
While  signs  and  wonders  figured  in  the  sky, 
And  then  the  Incarnation  of  all  good, 
By  Jordan's  wave  and  in  the  Mount  had  stood, 
And  with  His  hand  of  gentleness  and  love 
Transcendent,  that  a  heart  of  stone  could  movei 
Had  touched  the  ties  of  every  human  woe, 
And  loosing  fettered  mind,  said:  "  Let  him  go.' 
And  His  great  heart  to  patience  ever  moved, 
And  always  gentle  e'en  if  He  reproved, 
Bore  this  sweet  sentence  from  his  sinless  Home : 
"  To  preach   deliv'rance    to  the    bound    I'm 

come." 

But  even  then,  our  country  shook  her  head, 
Her  eagle  wings  of  independence  spread, 
One  tipped  with  fires  of  the  Tropic's  glow, 
The  other  lashing  in  eternal  snow, 
And  in  her  pride  declared  that  God's  own  Son 
Had  licensed  Slavery's  dark  crimes,  every  one. 
And  tho'  we  shackled  Afric's  sable  hands, 
And  scourged   her   where  the  smoking  altar 

stands, 

And  tho'  we  loaded  down  her  captive  feet 
With  iron  chains,  beneath  the  mercy  seat, 
And  tho'  we  laid  her  virgin  bosom  bare, 
And  forced  her  where  the  fires  of  off' ring  glare ; 
We  smote  our  conscience  with  a  palm  of  ease 
And  thanked  God  that  his  pure  eyes  ever  sees ! 
Who  then  can  wonder   that  the  Lord  would 

smite 
The  haughty  neck  that  did  Him  thus  despite? 


Now  let  us  in  the  light  of  future  years, 

Forget  our  loss  and  sacrificial  tears, 

And  thank  kind  heav'n  that  tho»  we  erred  aid 

strayed, 
We  to  the  good  path  our  return  have  made. 

Hail  dawning  Peace!    Speed  on  thy  glorioms 

rise! 

And  with  thy  sun  unseal  the  nation's  eyes. 
Let  Islam  with  the  flashing  scimitar 
Proclaim  his  rites,  and  gorge  the  fangs  of  war, 
But  peace  be  unto  thee,  land  of  our  sires, 
Whose  sacred  altars  flame  with  holier  fires! 
Let  lawlessness  no  longer  stagger  forth 
With   his    destructive   torch,   nor  South    nor 

North; 

And  let  the  humblest  tenant  of  the  fields, 
Secured  of  what  his  honest  labor  yields, 
Pursue  his  calling,  ply  his  daily  care, 
His  home  adorn  and  happy  children  rear, 
Assured  that  while  our  flag  above  him  flies, 
No  lawless  hand  shall  dare  molest  his  joys. 

Lo !  from  yon  hights,  land  of  the  rising  star, 
Triumphant  Freedom  beckons  from  afar, 
And  'mid  the  glad  acclaims  of  all  mankind 
Flies  her  immortal  standard  on  the  wind; 
Speed   there   thy  steps  and  lead  the  glorious 

train 

That  swells  the  lofty  tributes  of  her  reign. 
Thy  hands  are  wrested  from  the  tyrant's  hold, 
Thy  name  on  Time's  illustrious  page  enrolled, 
And  thy  escutcheon  is  embossed  with  gold. 

From  Erie's   rock- watched  shores  to    Mexic's 


No  more   the   bondman   wrings   his   fettered 

hands; 

No  more  entreaty's  sable  face  thro*  tears, 
Looks  up  for  succor  thro'  the  weary  years ; 
For  Freedom's  holy  reign  is  now  begun, 
And  earth  rejoices  with  her  rising  sun. 
Requited  toil  content  to  ply  his  care, 
Walks  with  boldstridesas  free  as  heaven's  pure 

air; 

His  gen'rous  fields  present  an  aspect  sweet, 
And  forests  blithe  the  hymns  of  God  repeat. 
Dear  western  woods !  thou  arbors  of  the  free, 
With  youthful  hearts  we  wander  back  to  thee, 
And  ere  our  numbers  hush,  once  more  would 

lie 

Beneath  thy  shades  and  gaze  upon  the  sky. 
No  lordly  despot  o'er  thy  ample  grounds, 
Sways  ancient  titles  and  proclaims  his  bounds; 


NOT    A    MAN,    AND    YET    A   MAN. 


81 


But  each  proud  tenant  owns  his  humble  plot, 
Tills  his  own  fields,  and  rears  his  friendly  cot. 
And  e'en  the  stranger  'long  thy  roads  may  lie, 
As  peaceful  as  the  brook  that  bubbles  by ; 
From   boughs   that    hang  with  plenty  gather 

food, 

And  live  a  freeman  in  the  noble  wood. 
Dear  native  seats  1  fit  theme  for  bard  or  sage, 
Still  be  the  joy  of  venerable  age, 
While  on  the  summit  of  his  failing  years, 
The  calm  of  twilight  and  the  end  appears. 
And  where    green   paths  thy    solemn    shades 

divide, 

Walks  buoyant  toil  with  young  love  at  his  side, 
And  charmed  by  songs  that  ev'ry  zephyr  shakes 
From  boughs  around,  his  hopeful  journey  takes. 
And  flaxen  children  there  the  live-long  day, 
In  blithe  sports  join  and  wander  far  away. 

Oh  comrade  freemen  strike  your  hands  to  stand 
Like  walls  of  rock  and  guard  our  father-land  1 
Oh  guard  our  homes  and  institutions  free, 
The  price  of  blood  and  valor's  legacy. 
Awake  to  watch,  ye  sovereign  sons  of  toil! 
If  despot  feet  e're  touch  our  country's  soil, 
Fly  to  the  standard  that  by  freemen  born, 
The  glory  of  a  hundred  years  has  worn, 
Blood-stained,  yet  bright,  streaming,  but  battle- 
torn, 

And  rally  till  the  last  drop  from  the  veins 
Of  free  America  flows  on  our  plains. 
Eternal  vigilance  must  light  the  tower, 
Whose  granite  strength  can  bide  the  evil  hour, 
Whose  wave-dashed  base  defies  the  tempest's 

shock, 

Builded  upon  the  everlasting  rock. 
At  last,  proud  land,  let  potent  wisdom  write 
Her  name  above  thy  brow  in  glorious  light, 
And  suffer  ne'er  thy  hands  to  idle  rest 

THE 


Till   learning   lights    thy    humblest    subject's 

breast. 

In  cities  tall,  and  in  the  hamlet  rude, 
Suffer  no  partial  hand  to  e'er  exclude 
A  single  child  from  fair  instruction's  halls, 
But  write  EQUALITY  on  all  her  walls. 
An  equal  chance  in  life,  and  even  start, 
Give  every  one  and  let  him  play  his  part. 
But  who  could,  with  complacence  on  his  face, 
First  bind  one's  feet,  then  challenge  him  to  race? 
I  would  not  own  I  was  a  thing  so  small, 
I'd  rather  own  I  were  no  man  at  all, 
Than  show  that  I  must  some  advantage  take, 
The  race  of  life  respectably  to  make. 
Say  my  facilities  must  all  be  best, 
Then  write  excelsior  upon  my  crest? 
Nay,  rather  let  me  weed  the  hardest  row, 
And  rise  above  by  toiling  from  below. 

Free  schools,  free  press,  free  speech  and  equal 

laws, 

A  common  country  and  a  common  cause, 
Are  only  worthy  of  a  freeman's  boasts — 
Are  Freedom's  real  and  intrinsic  costs. 
Without  these,  Freedom  is  an  empty  name, 
And  war-won  glory  is  a  glaring  shame. 
Soon  where  yon  happy  future  now  appears, 
Where  learning  now  her  glorious  temple  rears, 
Our  country's  hosts  shall  round  one  interest 

meet, 

And  her  free  heart  with  one  proud  impulse  beat, 
One  common   blood  thro*  her  life's  channels 

flow, 
While  one  great  speech  her  loyal  tongue  shall 

know. 

And  soon,  whoever  to  our  land  shall  come, 
Jew,  Greek  or  Goth>  he  here  shall  be  at  home. 
Then  Ign'rance  shall  forsake  her  crooked  ways, 
And  poor  old  Caste  there  end  her  feeble  days. 

END. 


DRIFTED   LEAVES, 


COLLECTION  OF  POEMS. 


BY 


ALBKRY   A.  WHITMAN, 


ST.  LCHTIS: 
NIXON-JONES  PRINTING  CO. 

1890. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  ONE    WHOSE   GIANT    MANHOOD    IN    THE   GOSPEL    WAR,   HAS    STOOD,   IN    SIEGE, 
AND  MARCH,  AND  BATTLE-STORM   INVINCIBLE   FOR    FIFTY    YEARS  ;    WHOSE 
ELOQUENCE    HAS     HELD     THE    THOUSANDS     THRILLED,   AND    WHOSE 
POETIC       AND       SUBLIME      OUTBURSTS        OF       LOFTY       SOUL, 
HAVE      MADE      HIM      WONDERFUL  ;      ONE     WHO      HAS 
EVER   BEEN   TO   ME,  A  FATHER  AND  A   FRIEND  : 
THE     RT.    REV.     T.    M.    D.    WARD,   D.  D., 
"  DRIFTED     LEAVES,"     IS     AFFEC- 
TIONATELY INSCRIBED   BY 

ALBHRY  A.   WHITMAN. 


(85) 


DRIFTED  IsEAVES. 


MY  MOUNTAIN  HOME. 

[This  is  the  first  poem  that  I  ever  attempted  to 
write.] 

My  home  was  'mong  the  mountains  blue, 

Close  by  a  friendly  stream 
Whose  mossy  banks  my  childhood  knew  — 

Whose  waves  were  childhood's  dream. 

Dear  winding  brook,  I  knew  it  well, 

Its  gurgling  waterfall, 
And  silvery  bubbles  —  none  can  tell 

How  oft  I  think  of  all! 

The  old  foot-bridge  that  'cross  it  lay, 

On  which  I  oft  would  sit 
And  watch  the  shining  minnows  play, 

As  they  swam  under  it. 

The  ihady  glens  in  which  I'd  rove 

When  bringing  up  the  cows; 
And  listen  to  the  songs  of  love 

That  floated  'mong  the  boughs ! 

Back  to  thy  scenes  in  mem'ry  bright, 

Dear  old  log  house  of  yore ; 
My  heart  still  turns  with  strange  delight, 

And  I'm  at  home  once  more ! 


H. 


Or  in  the  blue  of  heaven, 
A  speck  high  o'er  the  earth, 

Or  where  the  boiling  clouds  are  driven, 
That  give  the  thunders  birth; 

m. 

The  upper  worlds  are  thine; 

Thou  stoopest  to  thy  rest 
Among  the  crags  whose  glorious  shine, 

No  storm  can  e'er  molest. 

IV. 

Lo !  on  our  standard  fair, 

Thy  image  fitly  flies, 
About  thee  only  are  the  stars 

And  the  blue  peaceful  skies. 


V. 

Emblem  of  Sovereignty, 

In  thy  unsullied  flight, 
The  hosts  of  Freedom  hail  to  thee; 

Thou  monarch  of  the  hight! 


THE  EAGLE. 
I. 

Bird  of  untiring  wings, 
Thou  sweep'st  along  the  sky : 

Scorning  the  range  of  meaner  things, 
Thou  art  at  home  on  high. 


THE  DESOLATE  MAN. 

"Is  there  anything  here  for  a  desolate  man  — 

Is  there  anything  here  I  can  do? 
For  I've  come  a  long  way  and  will  work  if  I 

can,— 

For  something  to  eat;   just  a  mouthful  or 
two.'1 

(87) 


88 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


"  Don't  look  on  my  rags,  for  I've  seen  better 

days, 

But  time  has  dealt  hardly  with  me, 
And  the  courage  of  youth  and  my  manliest  ways 
Went  down  with  strong  drink,  like  a  rock  in 
the  sea." 

"No!  No!"  cried  the  woman,  and  she  slammed 

to  the  door 

And  nervously  caught  up  her  child ; 
And  the    winds  made   a  pitiful  moan  for  the 

poor 

And  murmured  a  sorrow  across   the    dark 
wild. 

"Thank  heaven,"  the    woman   began  as   she 

stood 
Before  the  warm  coals ;  "  for  a  home  such  a 

night!" 
"Oh,  God!"  wailed  the  man,  as  away  through 

the  wood 

The  night  winds  howled,  "  is  there  no  friendly 
light?" 

From  his  cloud-shutters  peeped  the  cold  Win- 
ter morn, 
And  the  rum-seller's  wife  slept  in  elegant 

ease, 

While  the  drunkard  lay  dead  by  the  snow-cov- 
ered thorn, 

Where  the  rum-seller's  wife  had  sent  him  to 
freeze. 


In  the  hazel  thicket  near, 

Hushed  my  childish  heart  with  whispers 

Of  a  superstitious  fear ; 

Then  in  tones  the  most  assuring 

And  the  friendliest  of  all, 

Came  the  ringing  of  the  cow-bell, 

Ringing  homeward  in  the  'twall. 

When  I  reach  the  bright  forever, 
Where  'tis  said  the  angels  sing, 
I  expect  to  in  the  somewhere, 
Listen  for  that  bell  to  ring. 
For  that  dear  old  bell  of  childhood, 
That  I  heard  around  my  home, 
Ere  the  shadows  fell  about  me, 
And  the  night  had  fully  come ; 
I  shall  hear  the  cattle  lowing 
Lowing  to  the  milkmaid's  call 
And  shall  hear  the  cowbell  ringing. 
Ringing  homeward  in  the  'twall. 

And  if  in  the  great  hereafter, 
All  the  music  there  shall  bell 
Harps  and  songs  and  trumpets  only 
Sounding  on  the  golden  sea, 
I  shall  turn  away  and  wander 
From  such  scenes  of  ecstacy  — 
Wander  back  and  watch  the  twilight 
Dying  out  along  the  sky; 
Watch  and  listen  in  the  shadows 
Till  I  hear  the  milkmaid's  call, 
And  shall  hear  the  cowbell  ringing; 
Ringing  homeward  in  the  'twall. 


THE  COW  BELL. 

Often  to  my  heart  returning 

Like  an  evening's  after-glow, 

Comes  the  light  of  recollection 

In  a  shining  overflow  — 

Thus  when  I  recall  from  mem'ry 

Objects  dear  to  me  of  yore, 

I  can  hear  among  the  shadows 

Of  the  scenes  that  are  no  more, 

I  can  hear  the  sounds  that  thrilled  me 

Sounds  I  knew  and  loved  so  well  — 

When  the  patient  cows  were  lowing, 

Lowing  homeward  in  the  dell. 

When  the  last  of  glimmering  twilight 
O'er  behind  the  forests  fell, 
And  the  tree  tops  growing  darker 
Filled  the  silence  with  a  spell, 
And  the  whippoorwill  commencing 


A  LAUGH. 
1. 

Behold  how  good  it  is  to  laugh, 

A  rousing,  great  side-splitting  laugh, 

That  bursts  the  bands  of  care  in  half, 

And  snaps  ennui's  fetter; 
It  breaks  the  fallow  of  the  mind, 
It  makes  the  heart-waste  song  inclined, 
It  frees  the  spring  growth  there  confined, 

And  leaves  one  truly  better. 


2. 


I  mean  a  laugh  that  is  a  laugh, 
A  roaring,  loud,  old-fashioned  laugh, 
That  can  of  round  good  nature  quaff 
A  foaming  over  bumper! 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


89 


It  frees  the  soul  with  discords  rife, 
It  straightens  out  the  kinks  of  strife, 
It  gives  a  shoulder-slap  to  life, 
And  deals  disease  a  thumper. 

3. 

I  pity  him  who  cannot  laugh, 
For  his  poor  manhood's  lost  its  staff; 
I  dread,  I  shun  who  will  not  laugh, 
For  he  is  more  a  beast,  by  half, 

Than  any  four-foot  creature; 
And  tho'  a  sage  may  frown  at  this, 
A  bishop  shake  his  gown  at  this, 
And  tho'  prude  dames  look  brown  at  this, 
I  set  a  good  laugh  down  as  this  — 

The  wine  of  human  nature. 


"THE  VETERAN." 
1. 

Can  tongue  of  angel  or  of  man, 
E'er  praise  the  brave  old  veteran, 

As  praise  we  ought ; 
When  in  the  direst  hour  of  strife 
That  e'er  befell  the  Nation's  life, 

He  forus  fought? 


He  went  into  the  war  to  stay, 

Not  for  three  months  or  three  years  —  nay, 

But  till  the  foe, 
Who  would    have  dragged  from   height  and 

dome 
Our  flag  of  country  and  of  home 

Was  lying  low. 


He  fought  when  others  went  to  rear; 
He  knew  no  danger,  had  no  fear 

In  facing  death; 

But  leaving  all  he  loved,  he  rushed 
Through  lines  of  bristling  steel,  and  hushed 

The  cannon's  breath. 

4. 

Now  in  the  suns  of  all  the  seas, 
And  on  the  wings  of  every  breeze, 

Our  commerce  flies; 

And  o'er  the  plains  where  once  there  roamed 
The  Savage,  now,  in  splendor  domed, 

Proud  cities  rise. 


5. 

To-day,  no  poor  slave  drags  the  chain 
That  manacles  the  limb  and  brain, 

But  all  are  free ; 

And  brothers  white,  with  brothers  dark, 
Kindle  the  fires  of  freedom's  spark, 

From  sea  to  sea. 

6. 

Thank  God !  there's  freedom  in  our  air, 
Our  fields,  and  woods,  and  every  where 

For  every  man; 

And  while  our  hearts  shall  e'er  beat  free. 
Our  proud  boast  shall  forever  be 

—  The  Veteran ! 

7. 

Fall  back  and  pass  the  grand  old  guard, 
All  worn  with  age  and  battle  scarred ; 

—  Give  them  the  van. 
Now  roll  the  drum ;  let  music  ring, 
And  woman  join  her  voice  to  sing  — 
The  Veteran! 

8. 

Let  Antietam  to  Shiloh  speak, 
And  Kenesaw  to  Lookout's  peak, 

And  Vicksburg  thunder  in! 
A  thousand  fields  now  join  the  din, 
Till  Richmond  fall  and  crumble  In 

Her  fallen  glories,  Slavery's  sin. 


Now  bring  the  dear  old  battle  flags 
All  stained  with  blood  and  torn  to  rags, 

And  wave  them  here, 
Till  cheer  on  cheer 
Shall  reach  the  heavens,  free  and  clear, 

Wide  arching  o'er  the  Veteran. 


A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  THE 
WINDING  TENNESSEE. 

'Twas  sunset  in  the  hills    along   the  winding 

Tennessee, 
And  feverish  fears  of  being  lost  were  creeping 

over  me. 

The  thunders  of  a  coming  storm  behind  the 
peaks  began, 

And  spears  of  fretful  lightning  through  the  boil- 
ing masses  ran. 


90 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


In  vain  I  spurred  and  looked  ahead  to  see  some 

friendly  light, 
The  fearful  nights  receded  in  the  blackness  of 

the  night. 

I   cried,  "hello!  "and   listening   stood— and 

heard  a  panther  howl, 
I  turned  a  startled  glance  behind  and  saw  the 

heavens  scowl. 

"  Hello !  hello  I  "  again  I  cried,  —  again  the  pan- 
ther screamed, 

And  then  I  heard  what  in  the  brush  a  stealthy 
footstep  seemed. 

I  started,  "  stopped "  I  held  my  breath  1  — 
"  waal,"  from  beyond  me  came, 

"Take  keer  thar  straight,  say,  aint  yer  lost? 
y-a-a-s!  stranger  what's  yer  name." 

I  told  him  when  he  growled;  "umph  hugh" 
and  turned  and  walked  before, 

Till  we  had  safely  passed  the  cliffs  and  reached 
his  cabin  door. 

My  horse  was  hitched  and  fed,  and   we  were 

soon  within  the  hut, 
And  while  his  long,  lank  wife  looked  on,  mine 

host  the  questions  put : 

"  Whar  air  you  f  rum !  eh?  y-a-a-s,  whar  air  yer 
gwine?  "  jes  so!  "  and  then, 

He  shook  his  head,  looked  at  his  wife  and  turn- 
ed to  ask  again. 

A  quick  tap  came  upon  the  door,  the  landlord 

growled,  "come  in," 
I  thought  you  fellers  never  wuz  er  comin  back 

agin." 

There  was  a  sight,  the  thoughts  of  which  now 
chill  my  very  blood, 

Four  six-foot  rough-haired  mountaineers  be- 
fore me  grimly  stood. 

Each  had  a  rifle  on  his  arm  and  pistols  in  his 

belt, 
And  oh!  my  God,  what  shall  I  do?  my  time  is 

up,  I  felt. 

I  glanced  towards  my  saddle-bags,  and  then  to- 
wards the  door, 

A  feeling  then  came  over  me  of  going  through 
the  floor. 


A  den  of  thieves,  a  cave  of  bones  by  midnight 

murd'rers  sought, 
And  unheard  shrieks  of  death,  were  themes  lor 

my  unhappy  thought. 

But  when  that  cotter's  poor  repast  with  heart- 

felt  welcome  spead 
We  gathered  round,  and  leaning  forth  he  bowed 

his  honest  head. 

And  spoke  the  words :  "We  thank  Thee  Lord  " 

in  tones  the  tenderest 
That  ever  told  the  feelings  of  a  truly  thankful 

breast. 

11  An  Angel  of  the  Lord  "  I  felt,  now  ministers 

to  me, 
A  wand'rer  in  the  mountains  of  the  winding 

Tennessee. 

Through  cloudless  skies  the  morning  rose  and 
filled  the  earth  with  light, 

And  splendor  crowned  the  forests  on  the  joy- 
ous mountain  night. 

When  down  a  rugged  pathway  my  good  host 

went  on  ahead 
To  put  me  on  my  way  again ;  till  turning  short 

he  said : 

"Stranger,  we'll  shake;  and  lemme  say;  now 
bein  as  its  you ; 

Don't  let  us  ketch  you  here  again  a  huntin  Rev- 
enue." 

Jes*  take  that  road  before  you  thar,  and  ride  a 

little  pert, 
An  If  yer  stay  away  frum  here,  I  guess  yer 

won*  git  hurt." 


"  STONEWALL  JACKSON." 

BY  ALBERT  A.  WHITMAN. 


Defiant  in  the  cannon's  mouth, 
I  see  a  hero  of  the  South, 

Serene  and  tall; 
So  like  a  StoneioaZZ  in  the  fray 
He  stands,  that  wond'ring  legions  say, 

"He  is  a  wall." 


"The  old  foot  bridge  that  cross  it  lay, 
On  which  I  oft  would  sit " — 
And  watch  the  shining  minnows  play 
As  they  swam  under  it. 

"  Drifted  Leaves:'—  Page  88. 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


91 


II. 


He  heedeth  not  the  fierce  onsets 
From  bristling  fields  of  bayonets ; 

He  heedeth  not 

The  thunder-tread  of  warring  steeds, 
But  holds  his  men  of  daring  deeds, 

Bight  on  the  spot. 

III. 

And,  is  it  his  insanity? 
Nay,  this  is  but  the  gravity 

Of  that  vast  mind, 

That,  on  his  Southland's  altar  wrought 
And  forged  the  bolts  of  warrior  thought, 

Of  thunder-kind. 

IV. 

An  eagle  eye,  a  vulture's  flight, 
A  stroke  leonine  in  might; 

The  man  was  formed 
For  that  resolving,  deep  inert, 
Which  sprang  stupendously  alert; 

And,  sometimes,  stormed. 


V. 


And  so,  his  mount  and  to  the  charge, 
Or  led  he  columns  small  or  large, 

The  victor  rode; 
Till  over  danger's  castle  moat, 
And  in  the  cannon's  silenced  throat, 

His  charger  trode. 

VI. 

And  so,  with  fierce  far  speed,  or  near, 
To  right  and  left  and  on  the  rear, 

His  fury  fell 

Upon  the  foe  too  much  to  meet, 
For  Jackson's  soul  abhorred  retreat, 

Except  from  hell. 

VII. 

But  comes  the  saddest  at  the  last, 
As  sad  as  life's  ideal  past,  — 

And  Oh!  how  sad! 

That,  in  his  pride,  the  Stonewall  fell 
By  hands  of  those  he  loved  so  well  — 

The  best  he  had. 


VIII. 

How  sad  that  dark  and  cruel  night 
Should  fold  her  mantle  on  the  sight 

Of  those  tried,  true 
And  valiant  men,  who  followed  where 
Their  leader  went,  despising  fear 

And  darkness  too  I 

IX. 

But  sometimes  triumph  is  sublime 
The  most  when  on  the  brink  of  time, 

And  his  was  so ; 
A  shady  shore  beyond  he  sees, 
And  asks  for  rest  beneath  its  trees, 

And  it  was  so. 

X. 

And  do  you  ask ;  can  he  whose  sweat 
Hath  clods  of  weary  slave  toil  wet, 

The  praises  sing 

Of  one  who  fought  to  forge  the  chain 
That  manacles  the  human  brain? 

Do  such  a  thing? 

XI. 

I  answer;  yes!  if  he  who  fought, 
Fought  bravely  and  believed  he  ought, 

If  this  can  be ; 

If  manhood  in  the  mighty  test 
Of  mankind,  does  its  manliest, 

Believing ly. 

XII. 

Then,  poet  songs  for  him  shall  ring, 
And  he  shall  live  while  poets  sing; 

And  while  he  lives, 

And  God  forgives, 
The  great  peculiar  martial  star, 
In  old  Virginia's  crown  of  war; 
Will  be  her  Stonewall,  proud  and  sad, 
The  bravest  that  she  ever  had. 


WHAT  IS  IT? 
1. 

What  is  it  we  think 

When  boblink 

On  a  sunbright  morning  in  May; 

Comes  out  with  a  tune 

That  ends  all  too  soon, 

And  he  flies  in  the  depths  away? 


DRIFTED    LAAVE8. 


2. 

What  is  it  we  feel 

When  branches  conceal 

The  dove  whose  complaint  we  can  hear; 

What  is  it  we  would 

When  in  its  dark  mood, 

A  forest  stream  murmurs  by  near? 

3. 

'Tis  what  we  can't  tell, 

And  Ah !  we  do  well 

If  we  can  but  hold  what  we've  caught 

Escaping  control 

In  the  depths  of  soul 

And  sensitive  edges  of  thought  I 

4. 

>Tis  well;  for  within, 

May  not  the  wild  din 

Of  immortal  groves  ever  ring; 

And  life  like  a  stream 

Flow  on  in  a  dream 

Of  the  ralley  of  endless  Spring! 


Genius  at  last  will  rise, 
Triumphant  from  the  dust; 

The  cynosure  of  wondering  eyes, 
The  inevitable  must. 


GENIUS. 
1. 

Genius  finds  both  extremes, 

The  bottom  and  the  top ; 
And  'twixt  the  two  he  never  seems 

To  find  a  place  to  stop. 

2. 

But  high  or  low  his  lot, 
Genius  is  genius  still, 
And  whether  man  heed  at  first  or  not, 
He  must  at  last  and  will. 

3. 

Though  dull-eyed  grief  and  care, 

The  vandals  of  the  brain, 
Should  sack  and  leave  Hope's  temple  bare 

And  all  her  children  slain; 

4. 

Though  Superstition  place 

Her  thorns  upon  his  brow, 
Amid  a  jeering  populace, 

And  crucify  him  now : 


A  QUESTION. 

Shall  my  hand  lie  cold  on  the  strings  of  my  lyre, 
And  the  heart  that  is  warm  lose  its  pathos  and 

fire, 

Ere  my  countrymen  hear  my  song? 
Shall  the  bard  who  sang  in  the  tents  of  the 

slave, 
And  now  wakes  his  harp  for  the  free  and  the 

brave, 
Unheeded  wander  along? 


"WHERE  THE  YELLOW  SUMACS  GROW.'* 

[Lines  to  the  memory  of  my  departed  mother.] 

1. 

Come  unto  me,  my  children,  I  will  tell  you  of 

my  mother, 
I  have  often  thought  to  tell  you,  but  have  not, 

some  how  or  other. 

2. 

'Twas  far    off  in   Kentucky,  many  many  years 

ago: 
'Twas  in  a  lowly  cabin  where  the  yellow  sumacs 

grow; 

3. 

'Twas  near  the  dark-wood  thickets  where  I've 

heard  the  milking  bell, 

And  found  the  nests  a  building  in  the  bushes  by 
the  well : 

4. 

'Twas  in  this  lowly  cabin  where    the  yellow 

sumacs  grow, 
That  what  I  am  to  tell  you,  happened,    many 

years  ago. 

5. 

My  mother  had  been  sick  so  long,  our  little 

hearts  were  sad ; 
I  recollect  we  gathered  flowers,  with  what  poor 

hopes  we  had : 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


But,  when  we  came,  we  could  not  speak,  but 

watched  the  aged  nurse ; 
"  Not  now,  poor  t'ings,  not  now,'1  she  sighed, 

"your  mammy's  gettin'  worse." 


15. 

In  other  lands  I've  wandered,  and  in  others  y*t 

may  go; 
But  Heaven's  still  the  nearest  where  the  yellow 

sumacs  grow! 


7. 

"  I  see  a  light,"  my  mother  gasped,  and  calmly 

closed  her  eyes, 
"A  river  and  the  Tree  of  Life,  and  mansions  in 

the  skies." 

8. 

We  wept  and  called,  between  our  sobs,  but  now 

she  was  asleep, 
And  on  her  lips  a  restful  smile  forbade  us  more 

to  weep  I 

9. 

She  was  not  dead,  it  did  but  seem  that  she  had 
gone  away; 

And  left  the  Image  of  what  was  divine  impress- 
ed on  clay  I 

10. 

I've  seen  the  spires  ascending,  and  I've  heard 

the  sounding  domes 
That  called  their  hosts  to  worship,  from  their 

grand  palatial  homes. 

11. 

I've  heard  the  deep-toned  organ  in  the  dim 

cathedral's  aisle; 
And  I've  seen  the  priest  prolong  his  rites  in 

sooth,  for  sinners  vile. 

12. 

But  still,  still  unforgetting,  in  whatever  land  I 

go; 
My  heart  turns  to  its  Mecca,  where  the  yellow 

sumacs  grow. 

13. 

When  doubts  and  fears  oppress  me  through  fall- 
ing mists  of  years, 

In  childhood's  recollections,  O I  that  childhood's 
faith  appears! 

14. 

Undimmed   by  creeds  or  dogmas  beams  our 

Father's  house  above ; 
And  that  poor  lowly  cabin  is  a  temple  of  His 

love. 


GKANT. 

He  came  to  us  as  coming  from  afar, 

A  stranger,  without  title,  friends  or  clan ; 

And  when  he  rose  to  be  the  guiding  star 
Of  mighty  armies,  he  was  still  the  man. 

And  till  mankind  shall  cease  to  name  the  day, 
When  Appomatox  fell  and  freed  the  slave ; 

The  lips  of  patriot,  saint  and  sage  shall  say: 
"He  conquered,  not  to  crush  men,  but  save." 

His  end  is  but  the  rest  from  long  fatigue ; 

He  camps  where  peace's  sons  theirvigil  keep ; 
Nor  can  your  druramingpageants  by  the  league, 

Arouse  him  from  her  tents  in  his  great  sleep. 

No  coat  of  arms  for  him,  no  name  engrossed 
On  royal  parchment,  couched  in  royal  cant; 

On  Freedom's  granite  shaft,  in  gold  embossed, 
Fame   writes   her  proudest  title,    simply  — 
"  Grant." 


LINES  ON  WATCHING  THE  STARS. 

The  stars  are  out  and  glorious  in  the  heavens, 
Bright  host  that  erstwhile  seen  from  Lebanon'* 
Far  silent  top,  and  mountains  round  about 
Jerusalem,  thus  sang  the  shepherd  Prince: 
"When  I  behold  the  heavens  that  Thou  hast  made 
And  firmament  which  is  Thy  handiwork; 
O !  What  is  man,  that  Thou  shouldst  visit  him  I " 
I,  too,  O  God  I  would  hail  Thee  and  adore ! 
And  in  yon  bright  amazing  distances, 
Would  now  ascend  to  the  eternal  brink; 
And  'mid   Thine   arching   splendors   join  Tby 

praise! 

Hail  Sons  of  Light,  Ye  sentinels  of  God, 
That  build   your   cold  fires  on   the  steeps  of 

heaven 1 

Tell  us  the  secret  of  thy  watch  and  guard  1 
Art  thou  the  Sons  of  God  whose  carol  woke 
The  slumberous  void  at  Nature's  teeming  birth? 
Or,  heralds  jubilantic  didst  thou  sing 
When  startled  night  on  fiery  summits  heard 
The  sky-dividing  summons:  "Now  is  born 


94 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


In  Bethlehem,  the  Christ  — the  Savior,  Lord!" 
Amid  yon  vasty  silences  around, 
What  deep  communions  thou  dost  seem  to  hold : 
And  gaze  upon  this  lonely  earth,  how  still! 
Hold,  glorious  stars!  thine  upper  portals  hold 
Bright  sentinels  of  the  eternal  nights, 
I  yet  shall  pass  thee  on  my  way  to  God! 
Amid  a  horizon  of  flaming  guards 
Whose    rolling  splendors   fill    the  heaven  of 
heavens. 


THE  KANSAS  TRAVELER. 

"Hello!  there  on  the  harrow, 
Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Sod  Town? 

My  horse  is  very  much  fatigued, 
And,  see,  it  is  nearing  sundown." 

"  Pardner,  your  latter  remark 

Is  kee-reck,  ya-a-s; 
Go  four  miles  east  and  three  miles  south. 

And  please  keep  off  the  grass." 

"  Well,  I'll  gallop,"  cried  the  traveler, 

And  he  galloped  thrice  a  mile, 
To  where  a  man  was  standing 

At  a  "  cow-chip  "  pile. 

"  Hi  yi!  Do  you  reside  here? 

Is  that  thing  there  a  dug-out?" 
"  It  looks  as  if  it  was  dug  in,  don't  it?  Ya-a-s, 

Are  you'er  stranger  hereabout?" 

"  Yes,  a  trav'ler,  and  I  say, 

Can  you  tell  me  how  to  go 
Four  miles  east,  and  three  miles  south, 

And  not  lose  my  way?" 

"Yes!  Well  I'll  gallop,"  and  he  galloped 

'Till  he  stopped 
Where  a  bunch  of  quiet  cattle 

The  prairie  grass  cropped. 

Now  the  scene  it  was  entrancing! 

There  was  dimness  In  the  view, 
And  he  felt  the  weird  emotions 

That  they  tell  us  lovers  do ; 
When  the  moon  is  in  the  shadows, 

And  a  stillness  in  the  air, 
Seem  to  catch  itself  list'ning 

To  the  vows  that  whisper  there. 

And  musing  thus  he  fell :  — 
"  Silence  in  thy  spell, 


Here  would  I  dwell, 

For-e-v-v-r!"  but  the  outrageous  notes 
Of  an  acre  of  coyotes, 

In  all  the  keys  — 
E's,  G's,  C's,  D's,  Z's-s-s! 

Bursted  from  the  grass  around, 
Like  a  string  of  calliopes 

Waking  up  out  of  the  ground. 

Then  he  galloped!  No,  he  just,  that  is; 

Ge-e  whiz-z-z  I 

That  is, 
He  just  got  down  to  his  knittin', 

And  such  a  gittin'  up  an'  gittin' 
Over  the  hills  in  the  sand  draws, 

With  cold   chills  agoin'    up  his  back  with 

claws ; 
He  lapped  and  tumbled  in  the  blue  stem,  — 

And,  a-hem! 

Did  he  stop? 
Well,  you  just  wait. 

His  horse  kind  o'  limbered  up  his  gait, 

And  his  ears  began  to  flop, 
When  a  voice  in  the  dark 

Cried:  "  Who's  this  on  a  lark, 
And  such  a  wild  stampede  to-night?" 

"Oh,"  cried  the  traveler  sore, 
There's  a  thousand  wolves  or  more 

A  coming  after  me  with  all  their  might!" 

"  Pardner  have  you  got  back?    So? 
Ya-a-as,  kee-reck,  this  is  Kansas,  don't  you 
know!" 

The  farmer  held  the   bridle  at  the   trembling 

horse's  bit, 
And  patted  him   and   stroked   him   'till   he 

trembled  not  a  whit, 
And  then  he  coaxed  the  young  man 
To  "  slide  down  and  be  at  ease," 
And  in  a  Kansas  "dug-out"  hold 
An  interview  with  fleas." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  WAR. 

At  morn  I  saw  the  youth  of  sunny  hair, 
Mounting  to  rush  where  veterans  might  quail, 
I  saw  his  lover,  angel-eyed«and  fair, 
Buckle  his  arms  and  urge  him  not  to  fail. 
I  saw  his  mother  in  her  loving  care, 
Bid  him  « farewell "  with  quivering  lips  and 
pale; 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


95 


And  when  he  rode  and  waved  adieu !  adieu ! 
My  heart's  pride  into  adoration  grew. 

At  eve  with  sword  and  boots  to  saddle  bound, 
His  horse  led  riderless,  went  up  the  street; 
While  to  the  bivouac  of  his  last  sad  mound 
The  muffled  drum  the  soldier's  farewell  beat. 
Ah!  there  in  tears  was  a  fair  lover  found, 
Refusing  comfort  at  beravement's  feet! 
And  aged  sorrow  In  her  locks  of  gray, 
Followed  her  chiid  along  the  mournful  way! 


A  voice  shall  rise  up  from  the  sea 
A  rueful  voice  that  curseth  thee  I 

And  loveliness  that  is  no  more 

Shall  mock  thy  sons  who  wrong  the  poor  I 


A  FLOATER. 

"The  body  of  an  unknown  girl  was  found 
this  morning,  floating  in  the  lake.  Decompo- 
sition was  rapidly  setting  in,  and  yet  her  shapely 
limbs,  her  sweet  innocent  face,  and  her  shock 
of  raven  hair  showed  that  in  life  she  was  un- 
commonly beautiful.  She  was  taken  to  the 
morgue."  —  Daily  Paper. 

See  where  yon  fishers  shorewards  float 
And  pausing  peer  out  from  their  boat; 

Where  with  slow  throbs  the  idle  deep 
Breaths  like  a  monster  in  his  sleep. 

They  grasp  thin  oars !  What  can  it  be 
They've  found  upon  the  heedless  sea. 

"  A  floater!  "  How  her  cold  eyes  stare 
Into  the  realms  of  empty  air! 

See  how  her  tresses  long  and  wet, 
Float  over  her  like  waves  of  jet! 

What  secret  in  her  proud  young  mind, 
Hath  she  withholden  from  mankind! 

What  shapely  hands  I  There,  let  them  rest 
In  innocence  upon  her  breast! 

Strong  arms  are  there  to  lift  her  now, 
And  wipe  the  sea  foam  from  her  brow! 

And  e'en  the  storm-rough  fisher's  eye, 
Looks  tenderly  and  is  not  dryl 

"  A  floater?  "  «« that  and  nothing  more!  " 
Borne  off  along  the  sorrowing  shore? 

Nay  city  proud !  Above  thy  din 
And  glare  of  wealth-protected  sin! 

Above  thy  domes  that  jar  the  wave 
And  ring  dead  beauty  from  her  grave : 


UNCLE  SAUL'S  RESOLVE. 

"Ize  gwine  back  to  Georgy,  to  Georgy   Izeer 

gwine ; 
For  sorrow  am  er  bowin*  dis  ole  gray  head  of 

mine. 

De  music  in  de  tree  tops  of  de  winds  a  goin' 

thro' 
Am   to  me  sad  and  solemn  dat  I  doan  know 

what  to  do ! 

It  'pears  to  me  dat  voices,  dat  I  hab  heard  be- 
fore, 

Am  singing  wid  de  angels  ober  on  de  other 
shore ! 

Ize  gwine  back  to  Georgy,  an  dar  I'll  make  my 

home, 
And  dar  I'll  keep  er  watchin  for  to  see  de  Bride. 

groom  come!" 


TOBE'S  POEM. 

HOME  TIME  —  SUNDOWN. 

De  whippoorwill's  er  singin'  in  de  dark  wood 

bush, 

De  bull  fraug  hollers  in  de  pon', 
De  katydid's  er  talkin'  in  de  leaves  ob  de  tree, 
An'  de  darkies  am  er  singiu'  in  de  co'n, 
An'  its  home  time,  sundown, 
Time  fur  ter  turn  out  de  boss; 
Home  time,  sundown, 
An'  de  darky  haint  got  no  boss. 

De  lightnin'  bugs  er  flying  wid  er  zig-zag  flame 

De  beetle  bugs  er  goin'  wid  er  droan; 

De    'backer    flys  er  huntin*  fur  de    Jimpson 

weeds, 

And  de  toad  fraug's  'er  hoppin*  mighty  lone : 
An'  its  home  time,  sundown, 
Time  fur  ter  drive  up  de  cows; 
Hometime,  sundown, 
An'  de  darkies  am  er  comin'  to  de  house. 

Sally  Ann's  er  cookin'  ob  de  hoe  cake  bread, 
De  chilluns  am  er  playin  in  de  flo% 


DRIFTED    LEAVES. 


De  ham  meat's  er  fryin'  wid  er  mighty  good 

smell. 

An'  it  makes  de  darky  smile  mighty  sho'. 
An'  it's  home  time,  sundown, 
Time  fur  de  heart  ter  feel  lite, 
Home  time,  sundown, 
An1  de  darky  bids  care  good-night. 


AUTUMN. 

Now  Autumn  comes ;  the  leaves  are  sadly  fall- 
ing; 

And  crisp  and  dreary  winds  are  hurrying  us, 
As  if  an  unseen  world  beyond  us  calling, 
Did  wake  the  voice  of  Death,  forever  nigh  us ; 
Now  is  suspense  so  deep  and  so  appalling, 
That  life's  least  burdens  seem  to  sorely  try  us, 
The  mists  of  melancholy  fill  the  view 
And  wizard-voiced  regrets  alas,  pursue! 

Where  love  soothes  toil  in  humble  life  is  found 
That  dream  of  faith  which  sees  a  paradise 
And  ladder  from  it  to  the  very  ground; 
And  where  the   nightingale's  sweet  notes  can 

rise 

Through  woody  tops  some  lowly  roof  around, 
The  heart  is  wafted  nearest  to  the  skies ; 
There  feelings  by  the  peace  which  flows  induced 
Are  living  waters  in  the  bosom  loosed. 


AFTER  SUNSET. 

1. 

There's  twilight  on  the  hills  yet, 
I  hear  the  fire-fly's  drone ; 
And  oh!  this  after  sunset, 
Makes  loneliness  so  lone  I 

2. 

The  cows  are  at  the  bars  met 
They  low  beneath  the  hill; 
And  oh!  this  after  sunset 
Makes  stillness  all  so  still. 


AN  AUTUMN  SCENE. 

1. 

There's  purple  on  the  Sumach  leaves, 
The  fields  are  all  bereft  of  sheaves, 

The  grass  is  crisp  and  seary: 
And  in  the  thorn  bush  by  the  fence, 
The  robin  perches  to  commence 

To  pipe  his  farewell  dreary. 

2. 

The  bluebird's  chirp  is  wandering, 
And  seldom  heard ;  for  everything 

Doth  listen  now  so  deafly ; 
And  in  the  naked  tree,  the  jay 
Forgets  to  meddle,  all  the  day 

Consumed  in  thought,  or  chiefly. 


BELLS  OF  TIME. 
1. 

King!  ring!  ring!  in  thy  dusty  halls, 

O  Bells  of  Time, 
Calling  the  morn  of  life, 

Banging  the  noon  of  life, 
Tolling  the  eve  of  life, 

Ring!  ring!  O  bells  of  Time. 

2. 

Ring!  ring!  ring!  till  earth  heed  thy  calls, 

O!  Bells  of  time, 
Heralding  the  birth  of  years, 

Thundering  the  march  of  years, 
Tolling  the  dirge  of  years; 

Ring!  ring!  O  bells  of  Time. 

3. 

Ring!  ring!  ring!  on  earth  thy  warning  falls, 

O,  Bells  of  Time! 
Ring  o'er  the  former  sep, 

Ring  o'er  the  after  sea 
Ring  in  Eternity, 

Ring!  Ring!  O  bells  of  Time. 


Mo 


Pi 
*K 


